Death and I are good friends. I was born premature, so I had about a dozen surgeries before I was a year old. This gave me respiratory issues that didn't really pick up until I joined the Army, at which point my lungs decided they'd had quite enough of all my pushing and would like to retire, please. I have to be careful now about seasonal allergens and bronchitis, as it leaves me unable to breathe each year.
Similarly, I've also had depression for about half my life. I've lost count of how many times I've been suicidal, but I've made a few serious attempts here and there. Technically, I did die for a very short time, but that had more to do with the fact I couldn't breathe at the time. It felt sort of the way they portray drowning in the movies... just sort of sinking into black and being okay with it.
Fortunately, there's something in me that is too stubborn to die. And while I have literally begged for death on several occasions, I have thus far been denied. Someone even shot at me in my first apartment, I'm still not 100% certain whether it was a hate crime or not. I didn't hear what they said, I was too scared to process once I figured out what had happened. They didn't have very good aim, though; they got the brick near the window and messed up the frame a little.
On a more positive note, this is part of why I want so much to leave the world a better place. I know I'm due to die sooner or later, and I want to know that things will be better for those who come behind me. I also don't want the people who do care about me to be upset when I'm gone.
I put on a good mask, I'm LGBT in the South, so I have to know how to look fine and wear a pretty smile even when those around me say things that are injurious to my soul. As I've gotten older, I've gotten better about speaking up, and being more active towards pushing for LGBT rights... But it's hard to undo years of hatred and internalized self-loathing. It's ironic, I can see the good and the value in everyone else's lives, but rarely can I see it in my own.
But I wear a good mask. Depression haunts my steps, and sometimes I can feel it dogging my shadow, but all the worse is when it sneaks up on me. I've been homeless, I've been shot at, I've been left behind in the cold, I've been swimming in crocodile-infested waters, my lungs aren't particularly functional... and yet, of all these things, the most potent threat to my life is depression.
Depression sucks all the joy out of me, until I simply don't remember how to feel it anymore. It's like being a cardboard person. You can't feel any happiness, all you can do is take damage and get progressively more messed up. It simply makes life not worth living anymore, and when you perk up a little and can feel something, you look around and realize what a shithole your life has been... and in that moment, you want any power in the universe to take pity on you and simply turn your existence off.