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. 

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