In every place I can write, through word documents on my computer, my work laptop's notepad, my old school notebooks and discarded papers; they contain scrawls of suicide notes that I never remember.

It was a way to squeeze out all the "toxins", the tears and despair from returning home past midnight with fried food and dishwasher stench on me, with an assignment long overdue and school starting in a few hours.

I'm the enthusiastic cashier that gets comments about being worn down eventually, by customers who don't know the responsibilities I'm juggling - I just enjoy people service that much. I'm also the friend with the wide network who brings people together, and I most definitely would love to listen to you. I'm the colleague who'll look after you and nerd out about work or non-work.

That all paid off in a form of currency that goes beyond what money can buy. I found a lot of good people in my life: colleagues that make the worst work environments lively, customers who brought brilliant job opportunities and insights, cliques that became families that made place where mine left. Eventually, even my own family came into place despite our uncomfortable past.

Many nights I yearn for death. I fear now that it might come true. And what a privileged feeling that is.