It’s strange

I don’t feel like proof-reading this. Sorry if there are any errors or unclear ideas in this text.

I’m suicidal. I’ve wanted to end my life for several years, though I’m only 19 years old. I’ve been institutionalized twice, but I only had a short recovery after both. The medication they gave me stopped working, but things got drastically worse when I stopped taking them. Now I’m back on anti-depressants and mild neuroleptica. They worked wonders for about a week, but now I’ve gradually become more and more depressed and chaotic (in my mind).

Why is it like this? Why am I so fricking depressed all the time? Is it my own fault? Could I stop it? There are too many questions in my head and few answers. All I know is that I don’t really have any will to live. I’ve got things I like about life, sure; I like to sing, listen to music, play video games, you name it. But this isn’t enough to keep me from drowning in my own thoughts. I’m too weak. The world is to overwhelming.

I’ve been diagnosed with schizoaffective disorder depressive type. Once. What I mean by “once” is that, when I got out of the hospital the second time, the doctors didn’t view me as psychotic at all. I’ve talked to several psychiatrists and different people of the medical community, but I always get mixed answers. Some say I sound psychotic, some say I don’t. I don’t know what to believe. A part of me wants this diagnosis, then I can finally say I have an excuse, something to explain to others when they see me cry. Without the diagnosis, I’m just me. Where is my excuse then? People say my depression is enough, or that I don’t need an excuse, but I feel like I need something to stand behind, something that will hide me. It would be easier that way. I’ve had enough of being me.

If someone asks me “why are you suicidal?”, I wouldn’t know what to say. I want to ask them “well, why are you not?”. I know that death is the final stage and that my conciousness will be dead and gone once my heart stops beating and my brain shuts down. I will be gone forever. All I have is now. And yet I want to throw it all away. Why? Isn’t that a bit strange? Well, once you feel as wothless, as cowardly, as useless and stupid as I do now, anything else would be weird. I don’t deserve to live. My friends always viewed me as the useless and stupid one. They didn’t tease me directly about it, but I know they talked behind my back. They always implied things, too. This is also a part of why I want to take my life: revenge. I want them to suffer like I have. I want them to reconsider the way they treated me. I want to see them cry. “Oh, [my name], what have we done?”. Ok, I won’t see anything if I’m six feet under or sitting in an urn, but that’s not the point. I want their suffering.

Yes, I do carry a lot of anger. I want to hurt and kill others, but I know that would be a greater loss to the world than if I were to kill myself first. I might give birth to a doctor or an engineer if I’m so lucky that I find someone who will actually find me attractive, but that doesn’t help me. What will I do in life? Why am I important? That’s exactly it; I’m not important at all. Mybe my family would shed a few tears once I’m gone, but… so what? I know I’m selfish for thinking like this. “God’s sake, woman, don’t you think about the ones who love you?” I do. They keep me from actually killing myself, all because of guilt. Yet want to be able to swallow my feelings to end this pain. Yes, I’m a selfish *****. That’s part of why I hate myself.

People can read my thoughts. I’m constantly under surveillance. Or at least, that’s what it feels like 24/7. I know these are delusions, but they are so overwhelming that I can’t ignore them. If I have a thought or an idea, it’s not mine. It’s like I’m always screaming at the world even though I want to be silent. Everyone knows how stupid I am. Everyone knows my faults.

I might call a suicide hotline tonight. I doubt I’ll take my life, though I have considered it for several days in a row now. I will probably feel like this for a while, and who knows, maybe my life will end by my hand in the end?