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  • Yes it's called Suicide. A cowards death, as some may think of it...probably a sin to the religious crowd.

    But for me it meant being free.

    Free of a pain erupting like a volcano. My blood vessels bursting with unmeasurable pressure, looking for ways to ooze out. I wanted to end it all. It was a pathway, or maybe an escape to an unknown reality, which surely felt better than what I was experiencing in that moment.

    I tried to drown myself, grasped for breath in a few seconds. Ate 15 sleeping pills, woke up in the hospital, the next day. Slit my wrist in a Bollywood style, was bandaged and brought back to life.

    Obviously after a few unsuccessful desperate attempts, a voice from the unknown said, 'Its not time yet...Live because you don't have a choice, there is more to life than you have lived and learnt so far, so go back to the life to learn and experience more and when it's time you'll be called.'

    So I returned to life.

    I moved. I changed. I relocated.

    I looked. I grew. I became.

    I learnt to forgive and I had to forget to let my real self evolve!

    Today, like a little bud, coming to life in the fresh spring air, I grow slowly, recreating my being to become the real person I honor.
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