On September 10th after what had possibly been the worst 2 months of my life, heartbroken for the 100th time in a row, alone, hopeless, I decided to give myself only one more month to live. I decided to be romantic about the date since is the first anniversary of the death of my second child.
I have to admit, a month sounded like no time at all but it has turned out to be quite long. Whit no affairs to sort, no family or friends to write to, no debts to clear (and no money to pay them if I had them) no job to give notice to, my days are long and extremely painful. I feel sad every moment of every day and I try to comfort myself with the thought that all will be over soon, but still I suffer a crippling anxiety, maybe when the date is closer I’ll feel that calm most people say they experience, when they made peace with the idea that you’re again in control of your life, the control that depression, anxiety, false hope took from you such a long time ago.
I don’t think I ever made a decision entirely for myself, life kind of run it’s course and I simply followed, more than once I was over the moon happy, I worked really hard to be normal, functional, kind, useful and although most people that know me can agree I’m a “nice” person, when I’m sad nobody is here to say it to my face. When you’re a sad person you’re an inconvenience, they can’t understand why you can’t simply shake it off and move on with your life, so they won’t feel the burden of your pain.
It’s not the first time I try, and I was sure I wouldn’t fail before but something tells me this is it, the lowest point of my life and finally I will succeed at least that’s what I’m praying for…