I’ve been reading some of my old blog posts. It occurs to me that not much has changed in my life. I have no hope of my life getting better. The kids and my husband are asleep on the sofa. It’s not even 7:30. I want to sleep but can’t. I can’t stop thinking about life. Or, rather, of wanting to die.
I’ve been fighting these feelings since I was a little kid, well over 20 years now. You would think the feelings would be easier to cope with. The feelings of wanting to go to sleep and not wake up.
I have two kids to take care of. They would miss me if I went through it, right? But would they really? The youngest is 16 months. If I do it soon then he won’t remember. The oldest is nearly five. I can’t remember things that I did or that happened to me when I was five. I don’t think she would remember me. I don’t want her – or anyone – to remember me once I die. My birth was a mistake and I wish it were to never have happened.
I have no one in “real life’ I can talk to. No one understands what it is like to have to convince yourself to stay alive everyday. I’m tired of that. Mentally tired. I don’t know where to go to. I don’t know if anyone would care anyway. I also don’t want anyone to “tell”. If I decide to go through with it, I want peace for myself and acceptance from others. I don’t want someone to try to talk me out of it.