I’m 28 years old. Â I’ve been what I’d call a depressive since I was probably 14. Â I tried to kill myself when I was 16 by overdosing on my anti-depressants. Â I haven’t tried since, mainly because I saw what the first attempt did to my parents. Â I was very fortunate in my parents; they’re loving and supportive, and I probably wouldn’t be writing this if it wasn’t for them. Â I swore on my Grandmother’s grave that I would never try again. Â That vow has also helped stopped me. Â But it’s losing its effectiveness. Â I don’t see the point anymore. Â Why should I go through life in misery just so I don’t hurt them? Â I know it sound selfish, but there are times I resent them for it. Â There are many times I wish I would get a terminal disease or get hit by a bus so I could die Â guilt-free. Â There are only two times since becoming a teenager that I was actually “happy.” Â Both were when I was seeing two – not simultaneously – Â of my ex-girlfriends. Â (I’ve only had four, all of them dumped me). Â None of them lasted longer than two months. Â They both ended it because of me. Â I’m afraid I’ll never have a lasting, loving relationship. Â That it will always turn to crap. Â Worse, I work with one of those two exes, and a lot of the time just being around her is painful. Â It’s becoming so depressing that I’m thinking of quitting because of it. Â I know people say “it gets better,” and for some people that may be true. Â But it’s mostly just an empty platitude. Â How long do I have to wait? till I’m 40? 60? Â I’ve been happy in my adult life a sum total of about 4 months. Â I think about killing myself often. Â usually with an overdose of sleeping pills. Â If I killed myself, would some people be sad? sure. Â But they’d get over it. Â Like they get over someone close who died due to an accident or illness. Â Sometimes I wish I could fake my own death and find out who actually cared, and who just pretended to.