It’s been a while since I’ve felt this way – that my life isn’t worth living anymore. But I do again. And honestly it isn’t as bad as I thought. At this point maybe I’m at acceptance. Acceptance that this is how life is going to be for me. Acceptance that I’m not perfect – and that for some people the pain is too much. I’m too weak to handle this … And since I’ve done what I felt is all I can do to be better – for years – I don’t have anyone to blame.
While I’ve never been in this situation… I would liken it to someone with cancer accepting that some things are inevitable. That you can only fight for so long and then biology will take over and you will lose.
Only my scars are on the inside and no one knows except me and the few people that are so bored that they have nothing else better to do than to read my meaningless gibberish. No one knows the pain. And even if they knew about it, I doubt anyone could understand it. Hell, I can’t even understand it.
I don’t know when the time comes if anyone will be on my last call list. I’m still holding out hope that my will power to die overwhelms my will power to eat and that I’m actually able to lose some weight before I die. I’m half tempted to set my final last day as my birthday this year. Well at least unless I’m pregnant again.