This is a work I made as a reaction to a questionaire about suicide. I got over it, but I have been there, done that. Despair, the feeling of drowning, reaching out but never getting the help you need, deep dark depression, the grey-brown brainfog. Yet: there is some light, there always is, but I'm too scared to look at the light. I didn't varnish this pastel-drawing, just to accentuate the fragility of mental health. What you need to know it that I got out of this and so can you if you are this deep in trouble. I'm doing much better. January 2020, pastel on A3 paper.
I asked for help because I saw it coming. They didn't provide suitable help for me. It came, no-one listened and they tried to send me away to save my neighbours, but I stayed. Then, after everyone was gone, they listened. WHY? Just why isn't MY safety imporant enough? I've been reaching out for weeks here (for months, years elsewhere). Why do you try to save my neighbours but never me? It only came because my neighbours drove me insane and I triedt to keep it all in. WHY?
