Tip #5: You can't help someone if you yourself refuse help.
This tip is one of the lessons I hold near to my heart. Well, it's a lesson I'm still trying to learn. You see, I am a person who wants nothing more than just helping my friends in any way, shape, or form. It's not only my friends either. It's whoever seems to be in trouble or hurt. I just want to help, that's all I want. I don't care about myself or the crap that happens to me. I always put someone else's problems before my own and do all in my power to help them. Unfortunately, that nearly became my downfall.
I never cared about what happens to me. I still don't. I guess, in a way, I get some kind of sick pleasure from my own suffering. Like, I don't know. I guess I feel like I deserve every bit of it. For every stupid decision I've made and I'm just "enjoying" the consequences that result from those decisions. For example, when I was twelve, I made the biggest mistake that would forever change my life, that nearly brought my own death during my junior year in high school. That day, I became an addict. I fought it and failed many times. I tried asking for help from my God, but they were empty prayers. I just didn't believe that He was listening to me. Because of that, I never asked help from any of my family members or my religious leader. I never told any of my friends because I believed they would turn from me and leave me in the dust. I figured they would just judge me and keep their distance from me. For the longest time, I believed that. And for the longest time, I suffered in silence. This suffering continued to escalate until one night in December of 2009, it nearly reached its peak. I couldn't take it anymore. Depression had its most powerful grip on me that night, so much that it felt like hell was already on earth. Everything was dark, I felt empty and hollow. Nothing more than a shell. I wanted so bad to end this feeling. I found my dad's revolver and pointed it at my right temple. Now, I told those closest to me that I almost pulled the trigger. That was a lie...the truth is...I pulled the trigger. Fortunately, there were no bullets for the gun. I dropped the gun and sobbed harder than I ever thought possible. Every day I cursed myself for becoming addicted. Every day of my life, I loathed myself for becoming addicted. Even today, there are some days where I hate myself; however, not on the scale of that night. Since that night, I have sought help from my family, my friends, my religious leader, and my God. I haven't been disappointed.
Just this last June, I sought help from a psychologist who specializes in addictions. I am still recovering. There are still hiccups every now and then, but I'm doing much better than I ever have in the past. Someday, I'll be rid of that plague. Hopefully, it'll come soon.
Like I said in the beginning, I'm still learning that lesson. There is another lesson I learned from this whole thing as well. One that many should be familiar with:
Suicide is never the answer. It never will be.