I was born into a strict Muslim family. At 13, I started doubting. I had questions I couldn't ask anyone. I grew up, and the doubt grew with me. By 19, I knew: I'm an atheist.
But I lived in an Islamic environment. There was no choice — I had to pretend. All through university, even abroad, still in a Muslim country, I played the same role. I went to the mosque. I said the right things. I smiled through it all while feeling empty inside. I knew that if anyone suspected the truth, my life would become much harder.
I had a girlfriend I truly loved. She was kind, gentle, less extreme than the world around us. With her, I could breathe. For a while, that was enough.
After graduation, everything fell apart. Depression hit me hard. I didn't understand it back then — I had no idea what mental illness even was. I just knew I was suffering.
I started my dream job. Two weeks in, I couldn't do it anymore. Anxiety crushed me. Fear without reason. A heaviness I couldn't explain. I reached out — to friends, to my girlfriend. I told them I was struggling. Their answer was always the same: "Turn to God. He's the only one who can help you. Pray. He will save you."
Every time I heard that, something inside me broke. They didn't know I couldn't pray to a God I didn't believe in. They didn't know that their words only made me feel more alone.
The suicidal thoughts got louder. I couldn't ignore them anymore.
I left everything. My girlfriend, my friends, my job, the country I was in. I came back home. I saw a psychiatrist. He told me I have borderline traits and bipolar 2. That's when I understood — depression had been with me my whole life. Since I was a teenager. I just never had a name for it.
Now I'm here. No more pretending. I know who I am. I know this world isn't made for someone like me. Too much judgment, too much ignorance, too many people who will never understand.
I'm going to end it. I'm going to let go of all of it — the pain, the acting, the exhaustion.
And finally, I'm going to silence the one sentence I've heard my whole life: "God will save you.
But I lived in an Islamic environment. There was no choice — I had to pretend. All through university, even abroad, still in a Muslim country, I played the same role. I went to the mosque. I said the right things. I smiled through it all while feeling empty inside. I knew that if anyone suspected the truth, my life would become much harder.
I had a girlfriend I truly loved. She was kind, gentle, less extreme than the world around us. With her, I could breathe. For a while, that was enough.
After graduation, everything fell apart. Depression hit me hard. I didn't understand it back then — I had no idea what mental illness even was. I just knew I was suffering.
I started my dream job. Two weeks in, I couldn't do it anymore. Anxiety crushed me. Fear without reason. A heaviness I couldn't explain. I reached out — to friends, to my girlfriend. I told them I was struggling. Their answer was always the same: "Turn to God. He's the only one who can help you. Pray. He will save you."
Every time I heard that, something inside me broke. They didn't know I couldn't pray to a God I didn't believe in. They didn't know that their words only made me feel more alone.
The suicidal thoughts got louder. I couldn't ignore them anymore.
I left everything. My girlfriend, my friends, my job, the country I was in. I came back home. I saw a psychiatrist. He told me I have borderline traits and bipolar 2. That's when I understood — depression had been with me my whole life. Since I was a teenager. I just never had a name for it.
Now I'm here. No more pretending. I know who I am. I know this world isn't made for someone like me. Too much judgment, too much ignorance, too many people who will never understand.
I'm going to end it. I'm going to let go of all of it — the pain, the acting, the exhaustion.
And finally, I'm going to silence the one sentence I've heard my whole life: "God will save you.
