Let There Be Morning

Sometimes, I don't want to admit that there are days I wish I couldn't wake up. I don't want to look weak admitting that I tried to kill myself once upon a time. I failed. I passed out from overdosing on medication and I felt my heart slowing. I really thought I would die. I wanted to... so badly. I woke up at 3 AM, bawling my eyes out. I truly thought I would have been dead. Instead, someone saved me.

I like to think that my uncle saved me. He always had faith in me. He always believed I was destined for greatness, which is why I wear my first and only tattoo for him on my wrist. I used to cut on my left wrist and it meant everything to me that when I tried to kill myself that I thank him for saving me. Sometimes, I'm still mad that he saved me. I let my depression get the better of me. I want to believe that he did it as punishment sometimes. I didn't deserve to take the easy way out. I cry all the time because I don't know where I stand. I want to die, but I can't hurt the people I love. I've watched my friends suffer from Jack's passing. I watch my boyfriend suffer from Jack. I watch the world stop when I can smile and talk about Jack, because everyone else still aches at the sound of his name on their lips.

I want to get a permanent reminder that there will always be a light at the end of the tunnel. I want to be reminded that the only person holding me back from happiness is myself. I want to be reminded that I have to let light into my life. I have to let the morning come. I want to get a quote from the song "Let There Be Morning" by The Perishers. I want to get "Let there be light, let there be morning" on my shoulder. There will always be morning if I let it come. No one understands how much I've let my depression fight me and take me down. I used to be so good. I wanted to quit smoking cigarettes and cutting. I wanted to let the thoughts of dying stop. Now, I want death to come to me, and I hate it. I want something to end... and I'm hoping it's my depression instead.

Saving up for my memo,
Sierra