Selamat Tinggal Kematian, Selamat Datang Kehidupan [Sebuah Perjalanan Seorang Manusia Yang Terselamat Daripada Cubaan Bunuh Diri]

RT @Pascakapmelayu: Macam² kiat memasak dalam bahasa Melayu ! (Padanan di bawah tak berasas DBP, tetapi Sealang Malay sebab lebih singkat)…

Pinjam ayat doktor, kerana setiap patah perkataan itu cukup besar buat pejuang seperti saya. Kita selalu cepat menghukum pesakit mental yang akhirnya mengaku bergelut dengan anxiety (resah), depression (kemurungan), atau fikiran untuk mengakhiri hidup (suicidal thoughts). Kita mudah melabel mereka sebagai lemah, mengada-ngada, atau kurang beriman, seolah-olah penderitaan mereka hanyalah bahagian daripada kelemahan diri. Tapi jarang sekali kita lihat kekuatan sebenar di sebalik pengakuan itu—bagaimana mereka bertahan setiap hari, melawan ribut dalam kepala sendiri, terperangkap dalam kegelapan yang tak mampu mereka gambarkan dengan kata-kata. Dan walaupun setiap nafas terasa menggores luka yang berdarah, mereka tetap memilih untuk terus hidup. Kadang-kadang, kekuatan mereka bukan kerana mereka benar-benar kuat… tapi kerana mereka sudah terlalu penat, namun tetap berdiri, walaupun tiada siapa yang tahu betapa beratnya beban yang mereka bawa. Jadi, jika anda ada kawan terdekat atau orang tersayang yang sedang berjuang, jangan jadikan dunia mereka lebih gelap. Jangan beri mereka neraka, sedangkan mereka hanya mendambakan sedikit cahaya. Terima kasih kerana terus bertahan walaupun sakit. Terima kasih kerana memilih hidup walaupun rasa itu menghancurkan. Terima kasih kerana masih ada—kerana kehadiran kau lebih bermakna daripada yang kau sedar. Kadang-kadang, kata-kata kecil seperti ini mungkin cukup untuk menyelamatkan mereka. Peluk mereka deengan harapan, dan jangan pernah lepaskan. Mungkin ucapan ringkas anda hari ini adalah sebab mereka memilih untuk terus hidup pada hari esok.

This is one of my favorite Quranic verses, the one I recite every night before I go to sleep. The word heart always brings tears to my eyes. As someone who goes through heartbreak, I often think of myself as someone without a heart, with nothing but a shattered soul. I’ve convinced myself for so long that my heart is gone, too broken to ever heal. But this aayah reminds me that my heart is still there. It never left. I’m the one who refuses to trust in God’s plan. And that realisation breaks me again and again—yet it also gives me hope. Because if my heart is still there, then it can still be mended. IGod has not abandoned me, He is still writing my story. Perhaps this pain is not the end but a beginning, and the cracks in my heart are where the light will shine through. Amin.

I’m working on catching myself earlier in this process, thanks to therapy. I’m starting to recognize when I withdraw because it’s self-care versus when it’s fear or perfectionism making the call. And if I take a step back, it’s not because I’m running away—it’s because I’m giving myself the necessary space to breathe, digest, and return stronger than ever.

But sometimes, it feels easier said than done. I’ve been through the darkness too—depressed almost my whole 20’s. I remember those nights when I cried till my body felt hollow. Days when I didn’t bathe for a week, barely ate, barely functioned. Everything felt heavy Only last year did I finally start healing—a word that sounds so powerful, but for me, it’s just like a quiet reset. No fireworks. Just small steps. Some good days, some difficult ones. Sometimes bad enough that I almost fall back into that old, dark place. But I get back up, slow and steady. What keeps me going? The reminder that the end result isn’t in my hands. It’s in Allah’s. All I can do is usaha dan tawakal. One breath at a time. One small reset at a time.

Anak-anak murid saya sangat teruja mempelajari susur galur Raja-Raja Melayu dalam silibus Sejarah Tingkatan 2. Konsep Alam Melayu, yang menjadi tunjang dalam silibus ini, berjaya menarik minat mereka untuk mendalami sejarah dengan lebih mendalam. Ramai mula melihat sejarah bukan lagi sekadar subjek, tetapi sebagai kisah warisan bangsa Menariknya, mereka langsung tidak mempertikaikan susur galur Raja-Raja Melayu pada era awal Alam Melayu yang beragama Hindu-Buddha sebelum kedatangan Islam. Segalanya diterima dengan rasa ingin tahu dan terbuka.

As a suicide survivor, I’ve learned that jodoh almost similar to rezeki—trusting what’s meant for you—applies to more than just relationships. Rezeki, healing, dreams, and purpose will find you when the time is right. No amount of chasing can force something that isn’t written for you to arrive earlier. I’ve had to accept that rezeki comes when it’s truly meant to benefit and help me. Healing is the hardest part. I’ve tried to rush it, desperate to feel better, but healing doesn’t work on anyone’s timeline. Allah knows when my heart is ready for peace, and it comes slowly. Dreams and purpose are the same—no matter how delayed they seem, they’ll arrive when I’m ready. Even the right friendships and support have come when I least expected them. I am still learning not to beg for belonging because I trust the right people will find me. Inner peace and clarity have become their own kind of jodoh, arriving only when I’m strong enough to receive them. As a suicide survivor, I hold onto the belief that Allah’s plan is perfect. What’s meant for me will come—not a second too early and never a second too late. Trusting His timing has been my hardest lesson, but it’s the one that keeps me breathing.

We plan and Allah plans, and truly, Allah is the best of planners. But for someone struggling with mental health issues, holding onto that belief can feel like the hardest thing in the world. When life falls apart, it doesn’t feel like a plan at all—it feels like chaos, emptiness, or endless pain. In those dark moments, it’s hard to imagine something better waiting ahead. Bersangka baik dengan Allah? Sometimes it feels impossible because the weight of despair makes even hope feel like a lie. It’s not that I don’t want to trust Allah’s plan. I do. But there are times I beg for relief, and it doesn’t come. There are days when I wonder if my prayers are being heard at all. People say, “Allah will replace it with something better.” But what if it’s been years, and that better hasn’t arrived yet? What if I’m just too tired to wait for it? I’m still here, though. Maybe that’s a small part of the plan I can’t see yet—surviving one breath at a time, even when life feels heavy and meaningless. Maybe Allah’s answer isn’t always immediate. Maybe it’s hidden in the fact that I’m still standing, even after everything. And for now, I’ll hold onto that. Even if my heart doesn’t fully believe it yet. Maybe I can usaha—just for today—to believe that better things are still written for me, even if I can’t feel them yet.

Assalamualaikum Ustaz @Muzuzxck, dalam sirah Islam, adakah kisah seseorang yang pernah putus harapan dengan hidup hingga membunuh diri? Dan bagaimana Rasulullah atau para sahabat menghadapi situasi itu? Saya sedang mencari kekuatan untuk memulakan Ramadan, yang selama berbelas tahun hanya dipenuhi kesedihan. Saya ingin membaca kisah-kisah yang boleh memberi harapan, sesuatu yang mungkin dapat menghidupkan kembali semangat yang telah lama padam dalam diri saya.

3. People-Pleasing I put others’ happiness above my own. I say “yes” too often to avoid conflict or disappointment, even when it costs me my energy and peace. This leaves me drained and disconnected from myself. 4. Anxiety and Isolation The fear of judgment creates anxiety and a need for perfection. Eventually, it feels safer to avoid social situations and new experiences. I isolate myself a lot, not because I want to, but because it feels too risky. In doing so, I miss out on meaningful experiences and connections. In therapy, we (my therapist and I) discuss these patterns, though not always using acronym like FOPO. The therapy modules I’m working through help me recognize these behaviors and give me tools to break the cycle. I’m learning how to step out of these patterns, little by little, and to breathe through the fear of FOPO rather than let it control me. With therapy, I’m slowly finding my way through.

A BROKEN HOME I never asked my body to be a broken home, with walls that crack like tired bones, crumbling no matter how carefully I smooth wallpaper against the wounds. My fingers, stained with the ink of my traumas. The floor sinks because it carries my heavy despair. Sometimes, I hear it struggle to breathe, exhausted from holding the weight of my sorrow— sorrow that I try to hide, so my house still looks pretty. There were no windows here— only endless dark, where colours could not shine. I could only trace their brightness by guessing, but never knew what they looked like. And the ceiling—high, distant, unreachable— like the healing I keep chasing but never touch. I watch the cracks, where my happiness is trapped, and whenever I need it, only sadness drips back down. But maybe, just maybe, one day I’ll mend the cracks and plant flowers— not to hide the scars, but to prove I’ve grown. Maybe the floor will stop sinking, not because it is unbreakable, but because it has learned to dance with both the weight of sorrow and joy. Maybe I’ll carve windows with bright colours, letting the light in— not just to chase away the dark, but to let darkness and light coexist. Maybe the ceiling will finally open, not to collapse, but to release— spilling all the happiness it held captive. Maybe a broken home can be a heaven too.

Pain doesn’t discriminate. Depression, anxiety, personality disorders and suicidal thoughts—these know no gender, no age, no family name, no faith. They come without warning, affecting even those who seem the strongest. You may not see it, but someone around you is trapped in a battle they never asked for—against their thoughts, against their own body, against an illness the world barely understands. Their smiles might be forced, their laughter just a mask. And some days, they feel completely alone, as if the world has forgotten them. So please be kind. Your kindness might be the only light they have left.

Going to therapy and opening up about every heartbreak—not to dwell in the pain, but to understand myself better. Through that, I’ve learned healthier ways to cope with my emotions and see how much I’ve grown.