Sometimes I just want to run. Run far. Far away. But I don’t know where to. Sometimes I just wanna die. I run and bus hit me. But I have a son that I cannot leave behind. And I just feel afraid. Anxiety came. Suicidal thought came across my head. I had been half unconscious in these last two days. I tried to run but I felt senseless. It seems the world is upside and down. I tried to eat but had no appetites.
And I don’t want to talk to you or you or you because it might become a gossip. “Oh Fani is crazy” or “Oh Fani is having mental problem” or “Akh Fani is drama queen.” Or “Oh she will not dare killing herself”. You know all those stigma with mental health.
So I just run. I run fast, faster and faster until I broke into tears. And I went back to the old way. I took the substance t. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. ….. 40. I am not proud. I hated what I did. Yet, I cannot talk to anyone. I often feel that I am alone in foreign land.
What do I do now? I do not know. I am lost. I am sorry son.