What if the future holds a lot?
Because it actually does.
Earlier this week, news broke that a student at Obafemi Awolowo University had thrown in the towel and died by suicide.
According to the World Health Organisation, one person dies by suicide every 40 seconds—that adds up to nearly 800,000 lives lost every year.
It’s disheartening to see people die because they’re tired of life — overwhelmed, pressured, and everything just looks bleak.
Hmmmm…
There were a lot of reactions. “The person wasn’t patient,” “No be everybody dey face the same thing for medical school?” and the like. Some were comparing trauma, others were genuinely concerned.
I can relate to whatever that person felt that made him take that decision. I have walked in those shoes, and that’s why I’m even sharing this because many people don’t know that when you castigate a suicide victim, you’re indirectly poking an accusing finger at my face.
My First Suicide Attempt
I spent five whole years at home after my SSCE.
I wrote my first UTME in 2018, scored 278, and was very expectant. I even changed my course to Human Physiology just to get into school, but with an aggregate of 279, I was still denied admission.
Well, I took it quite well; wrote another UTME the next year, scored 303, yet couldn’t get into Medicine because I missed the cut-off mark by 1.5 marks. I was offered Zoology. I felt it was not close to what I wanted, and I was just 16, so I moved on.
Another UTME. This time I had 323. I thought it was the last time I’d write it but I was denied again because they said my O-level results didn’t convert to an extremely high spectrum, blah blah blah.
It didn’t matter. I was confident I would do better the next year. But that next year struck like lightning, and I fell seriously ill. Almost incapacitated. Everyone begged me to skip the exam, but I wanted to try my luck. So, against the doctor’s advice, I wrote the UTME.
I scored 262 — amazing for someone in my condition, innit? But it still couldn’t get me into Medicine or even Pharmacy, and Nursing didn’t interest me that much. That was when it began — I felt cursed, already labelled at home, with prayer meetings held on my behalf so “the Lord will give me admission into university.” Since my parents couldn’t afford private medical school fees, I was left with the option of attending Federal and State institutions.
At this point, my parents were being pestered by people who thought they were the ones pushing me to study Medicine, not knowing it was my own idea. My dad wanted oil money (lol), and in their frustration, my parents poured it all on me. I didn’t want to go to school in the East because I wanted to stay close to home. People suggested Nursing, but I rejected it. Soon, I couldn’t even walk freely on the street; I stayed indoors most of the time, buried in shame, distress, pain, and confusion. That was when I started my “Medicine or Nothing” mission, convinced I had faced too much already to change my course.
Then I applied for post-UTME in a state university. That day, I had a technical glitch. It felt like the whole world had turned its back on me. I cried my eyes out from the school until I got home.
Guess what? When I got home, I stopped at a busy bus stop and stood in the middle of the road so I could be crushed or something. Suddenly, the once-busy road became calm. For a second, I rethought my decision. The moment I left that spot, it became busy again.
I didn’t get into school that year, but the depression continued. I wrote letters to God asking Him to kill me. I was withdrawn. He didn’t — and now I’m here.
Maybe you’ve read my words before. But imagine if 2021 had gone differently — you wouldn’t be here with me, sharing this story. You’d be reading someone else’s. That’s why I believe every survival story counts, because it means another chance to speak, to heal, and to help someone else hold on.
In my case, I didn’t have anyone to speak to. Back then, mental health wasn’t even a thing I considered.
Suicide is religiously and morally wrong, but the truth is people are depressed and going through life in ways we don’t always see. Sometimes, just checking up on someone or saying something kind can make them feel life is worth living. Don’t ignore people in distress — your concern might be the reason they finally speak up. And if someone confides in you, don’t become a mobile information carrier; if you can’t hold it in, at least find a way to stop them from sharing further. Offer real support to your peers, and don’t wait until someone dies before you show that you care.
At the heat of the moment, don’t do it. Take deep breaths. Speak up quickly. The future is not bleak. You can’t see it, but it isn’t. I can say that because I’ve lived it.
I don’t have all the answers. I’m not here to say it will all be easy or that the pain will vanish overnight. But I can tell you this: the day you think your story is over might just be the chapter before the breakthrough you’ve been praying for.
I’m living proof that you can crawl through the darkness and still see the sunrise.
So, if you’re reading this and you’re on the edge — breathe. Stay. Wait for the next page. I’m glad I lived… and I want you to be glad you did too.
This reflection is by Princess from the Campus Cares Team. She first published it on her Substack, [Princess’s Journal], where she writes vulnerably about growth, identity, and purpose. At Campus Cares, we know that every honest story helps break the silence around mental health. You can read more from her here.