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.
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.