Story of my life…

I’m 36 years old and have wanted to kill myself since I was 11. I’ve never actually gone through with trying. I never told my parents growing up and they still don’t know. 


My childhood was rough. My dad was verbally abusive. I was scared of him. He didn’t believe in depression and my mom thought I was strong. I was too afraid to tell her how much I was hurting inside. I didn’t want her to be disappointed in me. 

I have reoccurring nightmares of my dad raping me. I have no idea if it is true that he did. Or if it is a weird dream. It scares the heck out of me when I have it. 

I went to counseling in college and then when I got out. I’ve tried antidepressants, psychiatrists, mental health exams, counseling. Nothing has eased the pain. No one could figure out what is wrong with me. 

My husband is in love with my sister. He wants her to move in and to have a baby with her. I’m not getting pregnant quick enough for him. Truth is… I don’t want to be pregnant. It’s the one thing that would definitely stop me from going through with this. Or at least postpone. 

I have life insurance policy that would pay off the house. My husband could get a less stressful job. My sister would move in. He would be happy. She would be happy. My kid would be happy. 

The people at work hate me. I would be replaced and life would go on there. They all would be happy. 

Everyone would be happy that I am gone. And maybe I would finally be at peace. 

I had planned on killing myself Nov 10th. It was my birthday. I decided not to since my husband gets more money if I wait until next year. So I might do it for his birthday January 10. 

I’ve started taking my anxiety medicine again. It doesn’t touch the depression just the anxiety. Before I was afraid to go through with killing myself. Now I’m not. Now I see it as an only solution. 

There’s one person at work who will listen and help where he can. I have fallen in love with him. I can’t tell him. I’m not good enough for him. I’m not good enough for anyone. I never will be. He knows that I’m dealing with wanting to die. I don’t think he gets how serious I am.  He’s the only one in my life that knows about the depression right now. 

I feel so completely alone and ashamed. I can’t even be happy right. I’m a failure at everything I touch. 


No one deserves the burden of being my friend. I just want to die. I want it to be over. 

I made it through…

I made it through my birthday. I wish I hadn’t. Actually I wish I would have had enough courage to kill myself when I was young. 

Every day is so hard. Very few people know about my struggle. Not even my husband does at this point. 
What would they do?  Try to stop me?  I don’t want to be stopped. I want the pain to end permanently. There’s no other way. 
I’m all alone in this. No matter how many people think they are here for me, they don’t know me. They don’t live inside my head. They don’t have to deal with the thoughts. 
I started taking my anxiety medicine again. I remembered why I quit it before. Besides the sleepiness. It takes the anxiety out of the depression. As in I’m no longer afraid to die anymore.  I just don’t care about living. Looking at the pros and cons for it even for others it just doesn’t work out in “living”‘s favor. 
I don’t think alot of people that deal with depression get the suicidal depression.   You truly can’t get this until you’ve been here. And it’s even more different for those of us that deal with it for long periods of time. 
I’m tired of putting on a smile and pretending everything is OK. At work I have to do it. 
I feel so terribly alone in this. And scared. I’m tired of crying. I’m tired of the pain.  I’m tired of life. 

Scared and alone

I asked a coworker if things got better. He told me they always do. Though what was I to expect. Him to tell me they don’t?  

I have been told things get better for most of my life. Since I was 11 at least. Know what?  I’m still at a point where I have to ask that. And I’m still at the point where I don’t believe anyone who says that things get better. 
One more week to go. One more week before I’m at peace or I’ve chickened out again. Or I’ve failed at something. Likely it’s more along the lines of failing. That’s the only thing I’m good at. I’m nothing but a failure. 
I truly believe this world would be a better place without me. I’m going to go through with it this year. I have to. I can’t do this anymore. 
No one knows this time. No one except the few that read this blog. Everyone else thinks things have corrected themselves and I’m happy. That’s no where near true. I just get tired of reliving all the feelings. And people trying to convince me that things get better. 
I’ve thought about planning my funeral. Know what? I don’t want one. I don’t want anyone to remember me. I wish I had the little brain thingy from MIB. I would delete my existence from everyone’s memory. I don’t want to be remembered. I want to leave and no one be burdened with ever have known me. 
My biggest regret in life right now?  That I didn’t go through with this earlier. That I was too stupid to go through it. That I’m still alive.