Anxiety, my relentless shadow, a phantom that haunts every corner of my existence. It whispers insidious doubts, painting a bleak future in my mind, where torment is the only constant, and the only relief lay in death. I grew resigned to the idea that I was destined to be forever tormented by this relentless beast.
Then, one day, the world shifted beneath my feet. I received news that shattered my fragile equilibrium. A distant friend had taken his own life. The shockwave of his death rippled through my soul, leaving me paralyzed in disbelief. He had left behind a beautiful family, and the stark contrast between his end and the life he’d created was a devastating reminder of the depths to which mental anguish can lead.
If only he had known how many people loved him, how far we would have traveled to be by his side, how desperately his children would come to need him. If only he could have heard the chorus of voices willing to stand with him, to support him, to be there through the darkest of times. The tragic truth was that he couldn’t see, couldn’t hear, the love that enveloped him.
I wished with every fiber of my being that I had known how desperate he was, that I could have done something, said something to stop him from taking that fateful step into the abyss. The guilt was a heavy cloak that wrapped itself around my heart, a weight I carried as a constant reminder of the fragility of life and the power of mental torment.
In the wake of this profound loss, I felt the earth shift again, but this time it was as if the very ground beneath me had cracked open, revealing a chasm of despair. I had arrived at a crossroads, a place where the path diverged sharply. I realized, in that moment, that I could not tread the same path that my friend had taken. I could not follow him into the darkness.
For the first time in a long while, I began to see my own value, to glimpse the glimmers of worth that had been buried beneath layers of anxiety and despair. It was a subtle revelation, like a small bud pushing its way through the hardened soil, but it was there. I knew that I had to be strong, not just for myself, but for the people who loved me, for my wife and children.
I resolved to continue on, to keep fighting, as long as I drew breath. The pain of anxiety was real, but it could not be allowed to conquer me. I had witnessed the devastation it could wreak, the lives it could claim, and I could not let it consume me as well. I knew I had to carry the torch of hope and resilience for my friend, who had been robbed of the chance to do so himself.
I understood that nothing, not even mental illness, could defeat me, as long as I chose to stand and fight. The battle was ongoing, and there would be moments of weakness, of doubt, but the memory of his tragic end serves as a stark reminder of the stakes. In his honor, I will continue to strive for light, for life, and for the understanding that even in the depths of despair, there is always a glimmer of hope, a reason to carry on.
Hayden Coombs 