Easy. Too easy. Oh so painfully, tauntingly easy.
But she doesn't think like that anymore. She's better now.
Depression was what the psychiatrist called it. A monster that wanted to take their daughter away was what her parents called it. Her siblings called it just wanting attention.
She once called it a friend.
A friend wouldn't have caused her to get her sent to the hospital. A friend wouldn't have whispered lies and false promises of a bleak future. A friend wouldn't have taken and twisted her mind to think that all that was good was bad, and that all that seemed good was an illusion.
How blind she was, she thinks of this in hindsight. Hindsight is 20/20, after all.
She remembers its soft, soothing voice: so facile and pleasant to listen to. But it was dangerous.
That voice almost destroyed her. That voice lied and told her that she had nothing to lose. That hopelessness and despair was at the end of the long tunnel of life. That there was no need to wait for oblivion – it was right at her doorstep. That death would be easy if she just tried again and wanted it with everything within her being.
How terribly she wanted it.
She's better now. She's found purpose. She believes wholeheartedly that it gets better, that life gets better if she just hangs on. She's finally found the beauty and love in living. She can make it. She can do it. She now sees that there are people that care, and that she finally finds compassion residing in her heart instead of the constant hate for herself and mankind. She's better now.
But at that red light of warning as she sits behind the steering wheel, an echo of the past taunts her.
How easy it is to ignore that red light...