Will you miss me when I am gone?

When I am gone, I secretly hope someone will read my blog posts.

Maybe I also hope they will feel guilty for not taking me seriously before when I said I have depression and anxiety. I know they think I am kidding. I know they think I am too pampered.  I know they think I should get a real job. I know they think I had it good for 30 years with a closed-knit family, good food, hot showers, a bed to lie in and the occasional treats. 

I know they always say I should experience the "real world" as in "look at all those less fortunate and they can survive in this world so why can't you with all your luxuries?" Well, if only life works like that. 

I don't even mind getting Covid-19 now, to be honest. If it means I get to quarantine for 2 weeks and more, I will willingly sacrifice myself. 

I now know why people end their lives. I now know why people self-harm. I now know why people cannot see themselves being happy. Because I have become one of them. 

Maybe, who knows, one of these days I will become another statistic.