why is the fence so uncomfortable?

i’ve been thinking about killing myself a lot lately. mostly because of my consistent failures in university. (and there’s also the fact that i’ve just been properly diagnosed with bipolar ii rather than clinical depression after five years of taking the wrong kinds of medication. that too. probably.)

if my petition successfully goes through – and my psychiatrist at school assures me it will – then this will be the second semester in the four semesters i’ve been at university that i’ll have medically withdrawn from. when i’m not in the middle of a depressive episode, i tell myself that school isn’t worth ending my life over. “so what i’ve been in university for two years now and have less credits than a person who has been there for one year? so what if my gpa dropped a whole point in one semester? so what i have more classes withdrawn from on my transcript than classes completed? so what if i’ll be two years older than my peers when i finish my degree and start looking for an entry-level position?”

and then once i’m in a depressive episode i look back on that reasoning and think, “what kind of fairytale fucking world are you living in, girl? of course all of that matters. of course it’s worth killing yourself over. of course you’re worth less than the sum of shit if you become a college dropout.”

my suicidal thoughts vary between the fleeting, “huh, if i jumped off the platform right now, the oncoming train would fuck me up. i’d probably die,” at the station to the more serious, “this is my escape route,” when i’m staring at my big bottle of antidepressants that i keep on my desk at home.

yeah. my pharmacy fucked up and gave the suicidal person five times the lethal dosage of wellbutrin all at once. i’m sitting on twenty seven grams of the stuff. i don’t know if i should thank whichever pharmacist that made this decision or if i should slap them repeatedly while screaming, “do you want me to die?”

i have a couple drafts of my note started. i don’t know whether i should go for sincerity or sarcasm. i could get one last jab in at the people i hate. or maybe that’s too petty and undignified, i don’t know.

i’m not quite sure what’s stopping me. maybe it’s the hope that it will get better. maybe i’ll have a decent career in a decent city and meet a nice girl who isn’t in some bicuriosity phase and we can settle down and have a kid and a dog. maybe i’ll be able to go backpacking in europe with my friend. or maybe i’ll kill myself sometime this week. it could go either way at this point.

i’ll listen to some jay z and have a cigarette. maybe i just need to think about it a little more.