Hatred

In July of 2015 I attempted suicide. I tried to overdose on a full prescription of Xanax. I was prescribed quite a bit. What happened between when I took the bottle, and when I woke up over 24 hours later in the ER is a blur to me. I would hardly call myself a “suicide survivor” because all I can think about is dying. I have always been depressed, mostly due to my severe, crippling anxiety. I can hardly function and that is no stretch of the truth. My desires in life I can never achieve. I become paralyzed when I interact with anyone who I am not totally comfortable with. I can hardly speak to my own family without saying inappropriate things I don’t mean or having my body become paralyzed. It is hard for people to relate to me, and when they do I tend to fuck it all up. I just want to put an end to all my misery but I am pregnant. My family doesn’t know and my boyfriend is excited to be a dad, but shows little affection to me anymore. I wish I could die. I don’t know if I am fit to be a mother and giving my child away or killing it is not right either. I wish I was the one who had never been born.