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Only the Strongest Survive

The story of depression and suicide.

By Isaiah BlountPublished 5 years ago 5 min read
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Imagine waking up in a three bedroom home, with two older brothers and two older sisters. That was my life when I was enjoying my adolescent years. My brothers were always out and about, as well as my sisters. Being the baby of the family was pretty chill... but it gets pretty lonely even though we had both parents in the home I still felt a bit, lonesome, if I can say.

Six years old my life took a complete 360 when (BOOM) I ended up being shot in my eye point blank with a frozen paintball. At that time, I thought nothing of losing my life, until I got transferred to many different hospitals.

How did it happen you may ask?

Like I said, I was a very lonesome child; I rode my bike, I played football with the local kids, but what I really enjoyed the most was playing video games, still to this day, i'm a very big gamer fan. Though, if you can put this in perspective, as the little sibling, my brother wanted to play the game, but I was so into it at the moment I didn't care to give up the controller. In exchange, my brother offered his six year old brother a paintball gun to play the game. I took the offer not knowing how to use it. As I started playing with it I had never seen or held a gun, for all I knew it was like a regular toy cap gun you get from a corner store until I witnessed the damage it can do.

Not to get too Gory, but my eye split open as the blood dripped from my face, not a tear fell as shock and the pain took over all the tears. I fought to hold them back.

My brother crying asking me, "bro, are you okay?!" he spoke again louder as I yelled and screamed, trying to establish what happened as my other siblings came rushing in, asking me the same question.

My brother felt like he caused a situation that could have been avoided, and told me with tears falling, "bro, I'm sorry"

I was, and still am, a strong individual, even though blood was falling from my face, I looked at him and smiled saying,"it's OK, brother."

Fast-forwarding to the days I spent in the hospital; it was hell. Felt like I was dying, and still to this day, the whole day and circumstance is a complete blur to me.

I had paint running through my blood stream that could have killed me at a young age. Yet again, me being strong, I fought to live on with my mother by my side each and every step.

My childhood was less sympathetic, I was teased for having an eye patch, since my vision was, and still is light sensitive. I got teased, even bullied; some understood, some just didn't give a damn.

My teenage years I grew distant from my family, cause they were all older with kids, and I'm still the youngest, I still kept in contact with my brother, as he was like the father that I rarely had growing up, despite our mishaps.

He loved basketball and making music, so everything he did I wanted to follow in his steps.

One day the past got the best of both of us as we're arguing about something that made me upset. Knowing how hard we both had it growing up, what I miss most is the fact that we both cried together from pain and the struggles we both had shared, or had individually.

He used to tell me all the time, "ONLY THE STRONGEST SURVIVE." or when I got teased and bullied he would say "kill with kindness." Those two quotes stuck to me for life.

Years pass; it's 2012, the year when I lost half my heart and sanity. My brother was going through so much mentally, spiritually, physically, you name it. That he broke up with his fiancé, packed up his stuff, and moved out of state to live with our father that we never really had a good relationship with. I didn't think nothing of it as a sophomore. I was single ready to mingle, finish school, and hangout with my friends.

I get a text from my brother saying how much he liked where he was, and that he wanted me to be with him. I wasn't thinking nothing of it, I grew up in a city where I spent my whole life. Due to issues with our mother, he felt like she cared more about other things than me. I told him I wasn't too sure about leaving; I felt uncomfortable getting adjusted to new things.

That same year on a November afternoon, life struck me, and faith in everything decreased. I get the devastating call that my brother hung himself. Confused, literally staring at my phone in my fourth period class until the bell rang and class started. I was frozen.

I ask,"Is he OK, he's alright? "

To the response I wish I didn't receive is, "he's dead."

At that moment, I felt so weak, everybody in my class staring at me, even my teachers, as I'm still staring at my phone till my teacher came up to me, and asked what's wrong.

Not loudly, but I said it well enough for everybody to hear.

I say, "my brothers dead."

Then the tears fell, and I couldn't hold it in no more.

I felt like I lost the part of me that kept me strong and uplifted.

I started skipping school, flunking every class, even got myself into gang related issues, cause I just DGAF no more.

I tried to commit suicide multiple of times, by consuming drugs, jumping into a dark ocean 12 AM at night, or even hang myself.

Why? Cause I felt alone, I felt like I had a part in his death with the guilt of not knowing. That's when I checked myself into the psych ward to help me in some way. It didn't.

I had struggled with anxiety, depression, and suicidal thoughts for the longest.

Till I got on my knees and prayed my brothers spirit would appear to me in my dream to help me grieve.

And that he did—no words just his company was enough.

And before I woke up the two things he told me in the physical form, he told me in spirit.

"Only the strongest survive, I love you little brother."

That right there was enough to make me push harder to keep fighting through life's hardships.

Maybe this will inspire the next.

grief
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