The Fire That Keeps Me Going

I was standing on a bridge at sunset, not to admire the view, but to seriously consider stepping off.

Twenty-eight years old. Unemployed. Heartbroken. Drowning in debt I couldn't repay. Convinced I had nothing left to offer the world.

The water below looked peaceful. Final. Like an end to the exhausting struggle of pretending I was okay when I absolutely wasn't.

Then my phone rang.

It was my little sister, calling to tell me about her day at school. Just normal, mundane stuff. She had no idea where I was or what I was thinking.

But hearing her voice—so full of life, so unaware of how close she came to losing me—sparked something.

A tiny flame in the darkness. A whisper that said: Not yet. Not like this.

That flame became my fire. And it's still burning today.

The Darkness Before the Dawn

People romanticize rock bottom, like it's some magical place where transformation happens automatically.

It's not.

Rock bottom is terrifying. It's the moment you realize you can't keep living the way you've been living, but you have no idea how to change.

For me, it was months of compounding failures. A layoff that destroyed my financial stability. A breakup that shattered my sense of worth. Isolation that made me believe nobody would miss me if I disappeared.

I'd stopped eating properly. Stopped sleeping. Stopped answering calls from people who cared because I was ashamed of what I'd become.

Depression told me I was a burden. That everyone would be better off without me. That this pain would never end.

And I almost believed it.

The Moment Everything Changed

That phone call on the bridge lasted maybe ten minutes.

My sister talked about her math test, her annoying friend, her plans for the weekend. Completely ordinary conversation.

But it reminded me: I wasn't just a collection of failures and pain. I was someone's big brother. Someone's friend. Someone's son.

People's lives were connected to mine in ways depression had made me forget.

After we hung up, I stepped back from the edge. Walked to my car. Drove home.

I didn't feel better. I didn't feel healed. But I felt something I hadn't felt in months: a reason to try one more day.

Finding the Fire

The next morning, I made a promise to that tiny flame: I would give myself six months.

Six months to genuinely try—not to fix everything, but to find one reason, just one, to keep going beyond survival.

I started therapy. I joined a support group. I volunteered at a youth center because if I couldn't save myself, maybe I could help save someone else.

And slowly, purpose emerged from the pain.

Those kids at the youth center? Many were struggling like I had been. Feeling worthless. Invisible. Convinced they didn't matter.

When I shared my story—not the sanitized version, but the real, messy truth—their faces changed. They saw themselves in me. And they saw that survival was possible.

Helping them became my fire.

The Transformation I Never Saw Coming

Two years later, I'm still here. Still fighting. Still growing.

I found work I care about—mentoring young people through their own dark moments. I rebuilt my financial life, slowly and imperfectly. I learned that healing isn't linear, and that's okay.

Some days are still hard. The depression doesn't disappear completely. But I have tools now. Support. And most importantly, purpose.

That fire my sister unknowingly lit? It's grown into something bigger than survival. It's become my reason for living.

What Keeps the Fire Burning

People ask me how I stay motivated when life gets hard.

The truth? I remember where I was on that bridge. I remember how close I came to missing everything that came after.

Every young person I mentor who chooses life over despair—that's fuel for my fire.

Every morning I wake up and choose to show up—that's fuel.

Every time I share my story and someone says "me too"—that's fuel.

My fire isn't about never struggling. It's about having something worth struggling for.

Your Fire Is Waiting

If you're in your own darkness right now—if you're wondering whether you have any reason to keep going—please hear this:

Your fire exists. You just haven't found it yet.

It might be in helping others. It might be in creating something. It might be in the people who love you, even when you can't love yourself.

Give yourself time to find it. Six months. Six weeks. Even just six more days.

Because here's what I know now that I couldn't see on that bridge: the fire that keeps you going often emerges from the darkness you're trying to escape.

Your pain can become your purpose. Your struggle can become your strength. Your story can become someone else's survival guide.

The Promise I Made

I promised myself on that bridge that if I survived, I'd never waste this second chance.

So I show up. I share my story. I light fires in others who are standing where I stood.

Because someone's little sister might call them today. And I want them to step back from the edge.

Your fire is waiting to be discovered.

Don't give up before you find it.

The world needs your light, even if you can't see it yet.

Keep going. Your fire is closer than you think.

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Thank you for reading...

Regards: Fazal Hadi