3 years ago, I was diagnosed with anorexia. During recovery, I bumped into Bulimia by accident. Somewhere along the way, I lost control over my moods. I slept to the point of pain to avoid being awake, I lost motivation in so many things and I just felt this sense of sadness always buzzing in the background. The vicious loop of self-criticism morphed into suicidal thoughts last year. Yet, somehow all this while I still remained “high-functioning” so maybe its just ideation after all. I still felt joy.It got better when I took a month of just reading, writing and staring blankly at the sea. Then, this year I planned my suicide. In retrospect, I don’t know who to blame for my fall. Was it really my illness? Or was I just undisciplined? Why am I such a disappointment to my family? Why do I disappoint everyone? It’s weird cause when I feel happy, the reality of my low moods feel so far away until I lose control of them again. At some point this year, I looked out of the window and sort of felt a sense of peace when I realised that dying was maybe just letting myself sleep that while longer and in exchange saving everyone from taking the burden that is me. Yet even as I criticise myself, I know that this is just pointless self pity. I couldn’t see my future anymore, not in the sense of who I was going to be but it was just blank. I didn’t want to have a future. Ironically, all this while even as I preach that I deserved pain, I never dared to inflict pain on myself. I remained too selfish and prideful, I didn’t want to die as the weak person. And I’m glad that I was selfish. I am so priviledged to have an education and a loving family and in retrospect, suicide would have been a sin.