If only.

I’m not the kind of person to tell someone about my bad day. Or how shitty and downhill my life’s going. I’m not the kind of person that can tell you that suicide crosses my mind everyday. I don’t want to end up in a mental hospital, but I know I’m losing it. I hate blood and never imagined I would ever be able to cut myself, then today at work I found myself putting a rubber band around my wrist, for no reason. I snapped it, liked the sting. It’s still on my arm. For the first time ever, I understand why people cut.
I know exactly what you mean when you say “black hole of depression.” I feel it too. I feel myself pushing everyone away. This afternoon I started crying as I drove down the road, wishing a truck would come along and just end it all. I’ve been dealing with this sort of thing for years now. I’ve had some really low points, but I’m coming very close to surpassing them. I know it. I can’t wait until I have an opportunity to get away from my parents house and back to mine, where there is weed waiting for me. I’d be there tomorrow if I could.
I know what you’re feeling. I could have written this post myself.