My life has sunk so low that all I think about now is ending it, and nothing else seems to make sense anymore.

I’m a single mother with a degree, but I have no job. I’ve sent out emails, filled forms, and followed up many times, but no one replies. They either ignore me or say there’s no space, and even though I keep hoping something will change, right now, every door I knock on has been closed in my face.

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I didn’t choose this life. I didn’t wake up one day and decide to raise a child alone. I didn’t ask to be helpless. Life took my son’s father away when I was eight months pregnant, and since then, everything has fallen on me. I carry every bill, every tear, and every moment filled with fear.

I’m not sitting around waiting for a miracle to drop from the sky. I’ve tried to survive. I started selling dresses just to keep food on the table and make sure my boy was fed. But then the Kantamanto fire incident happened, and everything went bad. The woman who gave me goods lost everything, and in a flash, my only source of income disappeared.

Don’t get me started on relationships. The dating sites are a joke. Every man I’ve met wants sex and nothing more. From the first message to the last, it’s always about that. There’s no future, no care, and no plans. I don’t know if they think that because I’m a single mother, I should just give myself away, like there’s nothing left to protect.

Not long ago, I entered a relationship thinking it would be different. He sounded mature and grounded, and he gave off the kind of energy that made me believe he knew what he wanted. I thought maybe this one would be safe.

But I was wrong again. He was only pretending. He wanted the same thing every other man wanted, and nothing more.

While I was with him, I got into trouble. I misplaced someone’s money, and I couldn’t go home that day. I was too ashamed and didn’t know how to explain, so I stayed at his place, hoping I could think clearly and maybe raise something small to send to the owner.

But even then, he didn’t care. I was stressed and trying to figure out how to fix things, but all he wanted was sex. I got angry, packed my things, and left.

It’s never been easy. Every time I close my eyes, I think about crossing the road and letting the car hit me. I think about ending it. But then I remember my son, and that makes it worse. I’m his only parent. I’m his home and his hope, and I’m falling apart.

Who will care for him when I’m gone, and will they love him the way I do?

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I’m doing this life alone, with my son beside me, even though he doesn’t understand what’s happening. Life is heavy, and I’m tired. I’m worn out from carrying all this by myself.

If only someone who’s been through this could talk me through it. If only someone who survived depression and the constant thoughts of ending it all could show me how they made it. Because that’s all I think about now, and I don’t know how people survive this or how they keep going.

I am dying slowly.

—Priscilla

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