In memory of 22 July 2019
Written on 24 July 2019
In December of 2016 at 16 years old I spent three weeks in a psychiatric clinic for my depression and anxiety. Overall it was a very positive experience but I somehow came out of it knowing one thing: I would die on 22 July 2019.
Now, there isn't anything specific that happens on the 22nd of July and it wasn't anywhere near that day when this thought popped into my head but I was convinced that I would die that day.
This thought then remained in my head in the background as something I'd remember occasionally but mostly ignore for about two years.
Then in February of this year, I remembered it again. Now, you must understand that whilst still suffering from depression, I had found a bit of a bright spot in the middle of 2018 but lost it again in December. For most of the time since having this premonition I didn't much care about living and had some suicidal tendencies for a while. But now, having had so much happiness a few months previous, I realised that 22 July was much too soon and I had so much I still wanted to do.
I wanted to live.
I mentioned the date to a few friends and they assured me they would stay in contact that whole day and keep me company in person if I felt it was necessary. I felt safe, hopeful and loved then. This lasted for a while before I realised that even though they would do their best, it was ultimately up to me to make sure I stayed alive.
The next few months were tough: I started university, got over a tough breakup and made some really big decisions about my future. I relapsed. I'd be lying if I said I didn't think at times that I just had to keep it up until 22 July, just a few more months then I could escape it all.
I didn't plan to kill myself, I just didn't really think I'd have any future past 22 July and didn't prepare myself for it.
And so on the day of the 22nd, I was honestly scared. I knew I didn't want to die but I was scared my mind would lead me into some strange labyrinth and something would happen, I don't know what.
In the end the day was much easier than I had expected. I spent most of it at my best friend's house, ignoring (mostly successfully) the gnawing worry in my mind and went to bed shortly after I got home.
This was the part I was dreading; I knew I wouldn't be able to sleep and may do something I would regret.
But within five minutes my cat, Babakat, came to lay on my stomach. It isn't unusual for her to sleep on my bed, she does it almost very night, but she never sleeps on my stomach. I tried to coax her off but she wouldn't move. Of course I couldn't move without disturbing her and. as all cat lovers know, you shouldn't disturb cats unless completely necessary.
So I didn't move.
And I fell asleep soon enough.
Did my cat save my life?
Probably not.
But she made it easier to get through the night that day and I'm eternally grateful.
And just like that 22 July 2019 passed with much less pain than I thought it would have and I'm here, on this planet, writing this today.
And I'm happy about that.
The world hasn't seen enough of me yet.
I lived bitches.
In December of 2016 at 16 years old I spent three weeks in a psychiatric clinic for my depression and anxiety. Overall it was a very positive experience but I somehow came out of it knowing one thing: I would die on 22 July 2019.
Now, there isn't anything specific that happens on the 22nd of July and it wasn't anywhere near that day when this thought popped into my head but I was convinced that I would die that day.
This thought then remained in my head in the background as something I'd remember occasionally but mostly ignore for about two years.
Then in February of this year, I remembered it again. Now, you must understand that whilst still suffering from depression, I had found a bit of a bright spot in the middle of 2018 but lost it again in December. For most of the time since having this premonition I didn't much care about living and had some suicidal tendencies for a while. But now, having had so much happiness a few months previous, I realised that 22 July was much too soon and I had so much I still wanted to do.
I wanted to live.
I mentioned the date to a few friends and they assured me they would stay in contact that whole day and keep me company in person if I felt it was necessary. I felt safe, hopeful and loved then. This lasted for a while before I realised that even though they would do their best, it was ultimately up to me to make sure I stayed alive.
The next few months were tough: I started university, got over a tough breakup and made some really big decisions about my future. I relapsed. I'd be lying if I said I didn't think at times that I just had to keep it up until 22 July, just a few more months then I could escape it all.
I didn't plan to kill myself, I just didn't really think I'd have any future past 22 July and didn't prepare myself for it.
And so on the day of the 22nd, I was honestly scared. I knew I didn't want to die but I was scared my mind would lead me into some strange labyrinth and something would happen, I don't know what.
In the end the day was much easier than I had expected. I spent most of it at my best friend's house, ignoring (mostly successfully) the gnawing worry in my mind and went to bed shortly after I got home.
This was the part I was dreading; I knew I wouldn't be able to sleep and may do something I would regret.
But within five minutes my cat, Babakat, came to lay on my stomach. It isn't unusual for her to sleep on my bed, she does it almost very night, but she never sleeps on my stomach. I tried to coax her off but she wouldn't move. Of course I couldn't move without disturbing her and. as all cat lovers know, you shouldn't disturb cats unless completely necessary.
So I didn't move.
And I fell asleep soon enough.
Did my cat save my life?
Probably not.
But she made it easier to get through the night that day and I'm eternally grateful.
And just like that 22 July 2019 passed with much less pain than I thought it would have and I'm here, on this planet, writing this today.
And I'm happy about that.
The world hasn't seen enough of me yet.
I lived bitches.
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