MY STORY; CHOOSING LIFE WHEN DEATH FELT EASIER

Suicide is an option. Yes, it is. But so is living, getting up from the ashes of everything you thought would last forever, just because you want to.

At 24, I was where everyone thought I should be. I had just graduated, holding my NYSC certificate, with big dreams and hope in my eyes. I made my parents proud, survived those crazy university strikes, and even landed a small internship in Lagos. I was feeling great.

But life can hit hard. That same month, my father died in a bike accident. My world fell apart. I had just sent him airtime when a stranger called to tell me he was gone. The man who always said, “You're going places,” was gone.

My mom fell deep into depression. Bills piled up. There was no help from my extended family. In fact, they made things even tougher for us.

I had to move back to Ibadan, couch surfing. Friends who I had helped told me, “Sorry, no room.” I understood, everyone was struggling.

My boyfriend left, thinking I'd be a burden after losing my dad. I tried selling clothes online, but no one had money. I posted my resume on LinkedIn daily and cried myself to sleep. Some nights, I couldn’t afford food, just boiled water to trick my stomach.

Then, two days after returning to Ibadan, my mom died. Everything was gone.

I posted my bank details on giveaway posts on Facebook and Twitter, but nothing. Every day, I saw others’ lives turn around. Why wasn’t that happening for me?

My dad's family took everything we had. My mom’s family wouldn’t help, saying I was a witch who killed my parents.

One rainy night, I sat on the edge of the building I was staying in, staring at the dark sky. My mind was racing. “God, is this it?” I whispered. I had written a goodbye note saved on my phone.

Then my phone buzzed. A Facebook group notification popped up: “Share a small win you had this week.” I almost ignored it, tears streaming down my face. But something urged me to try one last time.

I typed: “I didn't die this week, but I might next week. Hehehe.” People didn't laugh. Instead, the comments came pouring in: “That's a win, Queen!” “You're stronger than you think.” “We see you. We love you.” “You didn't die this week because you'll never die. You'll live forever.”

That night, something changed in me. Not pain, but a tiny spark.

I didn’t suddenly become successful, but the next morning, I took a shower, the first in days. I borrowed a roadside mechanic’s phone and recorded a short video about dealing with heartbreak and loss. I cried while filming.

It blew up. People reached out, not just with empty words, but to share their own struggles. I realized I wasn't alone.

I started sharing more: voice notes of me crying, honest talks about failure, even the poems I wrote when I was hungry. I became a voice for those too tired to speak. Brands started noticing me, not because I was perfect, but because I was real.

I got my first paid gig, a mental health group wanted me to share my story. Then more gigs, podcast invites, and even offers from abroad.

I found a small place, painted it myself. On one wall, I wrote in big letters: “Suicide is an option. Surviving is another option. And I choose to live.”

And I did. I survived. Now, when I sit under my roof and hear the rain, I smile. It’s no longer an unfinished building, it’s a nice home, one I built myself. Big enough for me and even ten more people.

Happiness didn’t just happen. It came because I chose to want it.

You can do the same, honey. Sometimes, it just takes deciding to try again, deciding to get through it, deciding to give it another shot.

Suicide is an option, but surviving is the better choice.

I write to inspire and motivate you. I love you so much. See you at the top. Keep fighting.