At what point can I give up? How much do I have to hurt before I can just call it all quits? It’s a question I often ask myself. I know people must think I’m selfish and whiney. Others must think I’m absolutely crazy and need to be committed. Maybe so. But that doesn’t take away the pain I am in. It doesn’t solve all the feelings I have to endure. It doesn’t give me solutions. No one has been able to help me out at all. I wonder if anyone ever will. I’ve pretty much given up on getting better. I cope through the days knowing that today is the same as tomorrow is the same as yesterday. One step at a time means for a very long hellish walk. A walk I have to do mostly on my own. I have a few people I can “talk” to; but I feel bad for leaning on them. I know the support I need would require more support than most people are capable of giving. I get that. But where does that leave me? Alone. Scared. And not wanting to go on. I close my eyes and can see me pulling the trigger or slitting my wrist. Isn’t that horrible, fucked up? I don’t care anymore. I’m past the point of help. I pray to God that I will get cancer. That I will have six months to live. That I will die alone in a car wreck. That I will die of a sudden heart attack. If I dropped off the face of the Earth no one would care. And quite frankly that’s ok with me. It means decisions are easier, no one will be hurt by my selfishness. And the world will continue to go on without me.