From Despair to Purpose

The Awakening: Recognizing Depression

I was watching a television program when a commercial break began. What came on the screen would change everything — a commercial explaining all the signs of depression.

As I watched, each symptom they described felt like they were reading my diary. The persistent sadness. The loss of interest in things I once loved. The fatigue that no amount of sleep could fix. The feelings of worthlessness. The sense that life had lost its color and meaning.

I had every single sign they mentioned.

There's something terrifying about finally putting a name to the darkness you've been living in. But there's also a strange relief — an acknowledgment that what you're experiencing is real, not just weakness or failure.

February 2018: NYSC in Asaba — A New Chapter

In February 2018, I was deployed to Asaba, Delta State for my National Youth Service Corps (NYSC). I lived in a lodge in a city where I knew no one. No family. No friends. No safety net.

To survive, I became an entrepreneur out of necessity. I would travel to Onitsha market — one of the largest markets in West Africa — to buy goods, then bring them back to Asaba to sell. The days were long, the profits were small, but it was survival.

Hustling to Survive

During the day, I sold bedsheets, clothes, and anything else I could move. At night, I became a street vendor, hawking chicken gizzard and fried plantain late at night on the streets of Asaba — sometimes at Asaba Shoprite at Okpanam Road.

I became known as "Johnny that sells chicken gizzard." That was my identity. My brand. My survival.

People would pass by my street stall, sometimes buying, often just walking past. I learned what it meant to fight for survival every single day. I learned resilience not from books or motivational speeches, but from lived experience — hawking late into the night, calling out to customers, counting every naira.

Post-NYSC: When the Safety Net Disappeared

After my service year ended, things became significantly harder. The small NYSC allowance that had supplemented my hustle was gone. I was completely on my own.

The business that had barely sustained me during service was now my only lifeline. But sales slowed down. Bills piled up. The stress became overwhelming.

I had no family support. No friends to lean on. Just me, alone in Asaba, trying to survive.

The weight of it all began crushing me. Each day felt heavier than the last. The depression I had recognized months earlier was now consuming everything — my energy, my hope, my will to continue.

The Health Crisis: When My Body Gave Out

Just when I thought things couldn't get worse, my body started failing me.

The Appendix Surgery

First, it was my appendix. The pain was excruciating — sharp, relentless, unbearable. I had to undergo surgery. The medical bills were staggering for someone who was barely making ends meet.

The Hernia Surgery

I was still recovering when the second blow came — a hernia. Another surgery. More medical bills I couldn't afford. More time unable to work. More debt piling up.

The depression that had been lurking in the shadows now had me completely surrounded. There was no escape. No light. No hope.

The Darkest Hour: Planning the End

There's a special kind of darkness that comes when you feel utterly alone, broken, and hopeless. I was living in that darkness. It consumed my thoughts, my dreams, my every waking moment.

I began to contemplate suicide. Not as a passing thought, but as a serious plan. I researched methods. I thought through the details. I convinced myself that ending my life was the only way to end the pain.

Writing the Suicide Note

Then I did something that still haunts me — I wrote a suicide note.

I poured everything into that letter. All the pain. All the struggles. All the reasons why I couldn't continue. Every failed attempt at making things better. Every disappointment. Every moment of crushing loneliness.

The note was written. The plan was set. I was ready to end it all.

A Desperate Prayer: The Suicide Note on the Altar

But something stopped me. Maybe it was God. Maybe it was the last remnant of hope buried deep inside. Maybe it was the unconscious recognition that I didn't truly want to die — I just wanted the pain to end.

I felt compelled to go to church one more time.

I took my suicide note — this letter that contained all my pain and my plans to end my life — and I placed it on the church altar.

It was my last desperate cry to God. My final plea. If there was any hope, any reason to keep living, any way forward, I needed Him to show me. Because I had nothing left.

The Intervention: "Johnny, You're Depreciating"

What happened next saved my life.

Rev. Ovie Ekpewu, a leader in the church, approached me. He looked at me — really looked at me, seeing past the mask I wore for everyone else — and said something I'll never forget:

Those three words hit me like a lightning bolt. Depreciating. Not appreciating. Not growing. Losing value. Diminishing. Fading away.

He saw what I had been trying to hide. While people publicly praised me and celebrated my apparent strengths, Rev. Ovie saw the truth — I was battling demons privately. I was dying inside while smiling outside.

That statement became my wake-up call. Someone saw me. Someone noticed. Someone cared enough to speak truth into my darkness.

That was the moment everything began to change.

Angels in Human Form: The People Who Saved Me

Around the same time Rev. Ovie spoke those life-saving words, other angels began appearing in my life. People who saw my struggle and chose to help.

Mr. Maro Oghene Efenudu: A Senior Brother

Mr. Maro Oghene Efenudu played one of the biggest roles in my life during this dark period. He wasn't just a helper — he was like a senior brother to me.

Throughout 2020, Mr. Maro gave me most of the clothes I wore to my first job. He gave me shoes. When I was hungry, he could give me food, just as Rev. Ovie used to.

He saw my dignity when I felt I had none. He treated me not as a charity case, but as a younger brother worth investing in. His support went beyond material things — it was about believing that I deserved better than my circumstances.

Mr. Sigismund Iweanya: The Idea That Changed Everything

Mr. Sigismund Iweanya believed in me when I couldn't believe in myself. He was the one who gave me the idea of going out on the street to sell. That simple suggestion became my survival strategy.

Beyond the idea, he supported me financially. It wasn't just about the money — it was someone investing in my potential, seeing something in me worth nurturing, and giving me practical guidance when I needed it most.

These three men — Rev. Ovie Ekpewu, Mr. Maro Oghene Efenudu, and Mr. Sigismund Iweanya — showed me something profound: that even in our darkest moments, there are people who will extend a hand. That asking for help isn't weakness. That community can be the difference between life and death.

Their intervention, support, and belief became the foundation upon which I started rebuilding my life. They were God's answer to that suicide note I placed on the altar.

Key Moments That Shaped My Journey

From Surviving to Thriving: Where I Am Today

The journey from that altar to where I am today hasn't been easy. Healing isn't linear. Recovery isn't instantaneous. There were setbacks, relapses, moments where I questioned if I'd truly made progress.

But I'm still here. And that matters.

I took my pain and turned it into purpose. Every dark moment taught me empathy. Every struggle gave me strength. Every breakdown became a breakthrough.

Helping Others Navigate Their Darkness

Now I help others navigate their own darkness. I understand depression not from textbooks, but from lived experience. I know what it's like to feel hopeless. I know the weight of suicidal thoughts. I know the crushing isolation of believing no one understands.

And I know that hope can be found even in the deepest despair.

My NYSC experience in Asaba, the health struggles, the financial crisis, the depression, the suicide attempt — they're all part of my story now. Not as wounds to hide, but as scars that prove I survived.

What I Learned From the Darkness

• Depression is real, not weakness. Mental health struggles are medical conditions, not character flaws. Recognizing this was the first step toward healing.
• Asking for help is strength. I survived because I placed that suicide note on the altar. Because Rev. Ovie spoke up. Because Mr. Iweanya extended support. Isolation kills; community saves.
• Financial stress compounds mental health crises. The intersection of poverty and depression is brutal. We need to address both economic and emotional well-being.
• Someone seeing you matters. Rev. Ovie's observation that I was "depreciating" changed everything. Being truly seen — not just looked at — can be life-saving.
• Pain can become purpose. My darkest moments became the foundation for my life's work. Suffering doesn't have to be meaningless.
• Healing isn't linear. Recovery has ups and downs. Bad days don't erase progress. Every day you survive is a victory.
• There is life after despair. I'm living proof. If I can go from writing a suicide note to building multiple businesses and helping others, so can anyone struggling right now.

And if I can survive, so can you.