Venting

It’s difficult wanting to die, but knowing you’ll never go through with it.

My first thoughts of suicide were in 7th grade. I’m not sure why. It’s been over 5 years since then and though I’ve gone through several long periods of happiness and feeling content, those thoughts still remain.

I’ve nothing left to live for, I get up out of bed in the morning because I’m awake.

Honestly, the only thing that’s prevented me from killing myself is my family. They’re good people. They don’t deserve to live the rest of their lives with that in the back of their minds.

It’s just so hard sometimes.

I mean, I don’t want to die. I’ve found things in life that can take all the pain away. I’ve been in love before.

The hardest part is being alone, and I’m truly alone. Yeah, I could hang out with them, but the way they go about being friends contributes to my depression. They’re not friends. I’ve tried to maintain other close relationships with people in the sense that, they can open up to me about anything and I’ll stop my life to help them out. I thought the opposite would have been true. I tried reaching out to people that have reached out to me, and they’ve all pushed me away. They all “understand” but they don’t know the half of it.

No one wants to hear that you’re depressed. No one wants to help. Even though I’ve been there for many people. It’s easy to get taken advantage of when you’re this vulnerable. You can always just shun everyone and remove the cancerous relationships from your life but then what are you left with in the end? Yourself. A mind left alone is a terrible thing. Nowhere for your thoughts to escape so they constantly recirculate within your head.

I know I won’t kill myself, at least sober. That base level of “feeling okay” for the moment. I know I won’t kill myself then, or now. But, those times happen. I’ve been to that point and back too many times. The more I keep falling down the spiral the greater the chance that I may not be able to climb out again.

I just want a friend. Someone to talk to. Someone I don’t have to constantly explain myself to. Someone that understands the pain. Someone that treats me how I’ve felt I’ve always treated people. Someone to check for me. Someone to recognize the signs and not ignore them. Someone to take the bullets out of the gun.

I’ll be okay, for now. I have plans for the near future and I’ll see where I end up in a few more months. For anyone reading this: writing helps tremendously.