The Uncanny Savior - Suicide

Salam 3lykm

Sharing an essay I wrote as an assignment during my last semester. It was supposed to be a distressing experience, and I thought..hmm..an incident from life, shall we? Life when I took a trip to what I like to call, "The Dark Side". It did happen this way. Fortunately or unfortunately. My first suicide attempt. Nothing outta the ordinary. Shay6an takes control when you stray away from Allah.

The Uncanny Savior: Suicide

I stared ahead at the wall in front of me as I tightly pinched the bridge of my nose. Tears welled up in my eyes, as an excruciating pain surged through my heart. No one understood the turmoil I was going through. No one knew that, had I shunned this despicable life I now lived, I was going to turn back into the friendless loner I had always been. I had filled that gaping hole in my life with books; nothing could ever replace books, because reading is what had kept me from plummeting into the outstretched claws of insanity for so long. However, it was also what had led to my becoming a social misfit.

No one was witness to how I would sob my heart out until I had no more tears left to cry. Murderous thoughts began to play on my mind as I tried to push away the heartless taunting and mockery I had been throughout my years at school. I had always been the ‘extremist’; having been brought up in a strictly religious family, I had not known what celebrities were, and had no exposure whatsoever to music or movies until grade 7 or 8. Thus, I had been made fun of and shunned as a ‘religious freak’, and had been left to the mercy of the endless rows of books in our school’s library.

As the taunting got worse, I started becoming more rebellious to hide the pain. I was still a misfit, but instead of a ‘religious freak’, I turned into an outcast. I was daring, and it was not long before the tables were turned on those who would bully me. I got into a few physical fights, but save for a few cuts and bruises, came out unharmed. I was still talked about behind my back, but at least no one had the guts to come up to me and mock me. I had now donned a mask, thus becoming ‘the hypocritical freak’.

I might have been all toughened up on the outside, but I hated myself. The worst part was committing sins despite knowing clearly the punishments I would receive for them. As the self-hatred grew, I eventually went into isolation. I gradually stopped eating; everything tasted so bitter, that even the mere thought of food was nauseating. Sleep had long-deserted me, to be ‘victimized’ by the All-Vengeful: insomnia. I would keep my lips sealed, fearing that I would not be able to stop the endless flow of tears that would accompany my barely-coherent speech.

Signs of fatigue and negligence were becoming increasingly visible on my face. The telltale dark circles that had formed over sleepless nights under my glazed eyes, added to the eyesore I had become for those around me. Every day, my parents would up with a new color to describe my pallid complexion, “Yellow!”, “Purple!”, “Gray!”, while I sarcastically marveled at their ‘newly-found creativity’.

I deliberately began pushing away everyone around me; they had done nothing but added to the pain I had suffered in life, with what seemed like endless criticism then, but what I actually recognize now as genuine concern. Instead, I had spiraled down a deep vortex of depression and had surrendered to it, allowing it to slowly suck the life out of me. The sun rose and set; nights crept up over days, and days surrendered to nights, yet mine were enveloped by pitch-black darkness. It was though I lived on, only because my breathing had not yet ceased. I had become totally anti-social, repelling even the kindest person in my world: my mother. Her ‘endless nagging’ pushed me to extremes, even though it stemmed from the deep, agonizing concern of watching her daughter waste away.

My weight plummeted, as did my mental well-being. Breakdowns were nothing out of the ordinary, as I felt my shoulders being crushed under the world’s weight. As loneliness threatened to devour my insides, it was not long before I felt worthless, and –alarmingly – responsible for having driven everyone away. Consequently, my health deteriorated; my vital signs had reached a critical state. That pleased me immensely; it would only be a matter of time until I would be laid six feet under to rest. I’d not have to hear their criticism or mockery ever again. Eventually, Satanic Whispers formed shocking thoughts in my mind, and that is when I first attempted the unthinkable: Suicide.

I lifted my trembling hand to my mouth, as I tossed one pill in after another. I heard my parents’ angry voices ringing in my ears all along, “Take your medicines! You NEVER listen to what you’re told!” They wanted me to take my medicines? I would. I’d take them ALL. However, having failed to take over six pills, I secured the bottle’s lid back on in defeat. Yet, the Damned Devil was not satisfied with his efforts. Something glinted in my eye as I turned around to leave the bathroom. A blade. I reached out for it without any hesitance. It was slightly rusted, but very cool – almost soothing – to touch. How long would it take for the blood to drain out if I slit my wrists? As I positioned it on my wrist whilst steadying my hand, the metal was cold against my skin, opposed to the seemingly fiery blood that pulsated with a life of its own within. I could feel my heart beating almost violently in its confinement, as if wanting to be ‘set free’.

“Let’s go, we’re getting late for Salah!” The blade slipped between my fingers, leaving telltale signs of its presence on my arm, as it clambered on the floor. My brother’s annoyed voice resounded in my head, especially his last-spoken word. Salah. What was I doing? Why had I almost surrendered to The Damned? For what price was I selling my life to the DEVIL?!

Realization hit home hard; for a few ‘cheap thrills’, I had nearly lost my chance of entering Gardens of indescribable beauty. For merely a few years, I had done what I wanted to do, following a lifestyle contradictory to Islamic beliefs. I had listened to music; befriended the ‘cool and popular’; been rebellious to my elders; I had done it all. However, I had gained literally NOTHING out of it, except severe depression and instability. I had nearly destroyed my Hereafter for the sake of this transitory world of baseless desires and temptations. It was time to answer ‘The Call’; it was the time to turn back towards Allah.

Wes Salam 3lykm w R7matullahi T3ala w Barakateh