Living independently during college seemed like the ticket to freedom, but it came with an unexpected guest: loneliness. The quiet I craved for studying turned into a storm of thoughts bouncing off gray walls. Even the bustling city below my window couldn't chase away the isolation. Days blurred into nights spent watching dramas instead of doing assignments.
My routine crumbled, replaced by sleep and unhealthy eating. Guilt weighed heavy, but I felt stuck. Recognizing my struggle, I sought help, but the cycle persisted, leading me to take a break from college. Returning home didn't erase the struggle; I still hid midnight meals and battled with my thoughts.
I wrestled with feeling ungrateful for my blessings while wrestling with depression. But I learned that mental illness doesn't play favorites. With awareness came a desire to make a difference, to advocate for better mental health care where it's lacking.
In my country, resources for mental health care are scarce. This isn't just a local problem; it's a global issue that demands attention. Yet, while location and depression tangle, they don't dictate our fate. My journey toward healing continues, and I hold onto hope that one day, mental health care will be accessible to all. We'll find ourselves in better places, both physically and mentally.
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She attempted to flee that desolate place,
but it held her tightly, a suffocating embrace.
It consumed her whole,
leaving her deep in despair's dark hole.
Like a player running low on life,
she needed aid to end this strife.
Please, lend a hand,
help her break free from this repressive land.