I know what it’s like to be dead. I know what it is to be sad. And you’re making me feel like I’ve never been born.
John Lennon didn’t know me, but yet he perfectly described the life I lived for sixty-plus years. It was somebody else’s life, not mine. I was buried alive, afraid to come out of my coffin, afraid to be me. I knew what it was like to be dead.
And although I thought I was alone in the darkness, there were millions of people just like me, afraid to live the life they were meant to live. Many of them were so overwhelmed by sadness and despair, that their metaphorical death was not enough to ease their pain. Only actual death could stop the hurt and sorrow.
Bullied teenagers. Qualified workers who were forced into homelessness, prostitution and drug abuse because no one would hire one of those people. Rejected by their families, mocked by society, these tormented souls saw no other way out but death.
On November 20th, we survivors will remember our brothers and sisters who suffered the sadness we all experienced at one time or another. The brave among us lived authentic lives, and didn’t care what others thought. Others, like myself, wore a mask and lived behind a façade in order to cope with the rejection. But when you think about it, each and every one of us had to kill a part of ourselves so that we could live. That is the bond we share, and why we must never forget them.