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.