It’s past midnight where I live, and I’m still awake. I’m still awake after taking my remeron, staring at mt celling in the dark. My mind is racing.
It feels like it can’t stop. Or won’t stop. Whatever, it’s not like I’m used to by now. It’s overwhelming living like this, it really is.
Every time I think things are getting better, it’s like something else happens that makes me feel like absolute shit again. It’s hard to find hope when every time you think you found it, it slips away from you.
I know I’ll never be good enough. I know my parents would rather I was a better daughter. I known my ex boyfriend is probably regretting his time spent with me. I know my friends think I’m just some cruel fuck up. It’s so hard to feel like your presence is valued in this life when your self confidence is at an all time low.
I’m slipping, and maybe this time, I’ll let myself fall. I keep my bottle of 60mg worth of Ativan by my bed, along with the bottle of tequila I stole from my parents. It sits there. Untouched, and unopened. But it’s only a matter of time before I try again. Because at this point, I truly can’t do anything right.
Every day is an inner battle for me. Between the anxiety and panic attacks, to the depression, it’s hard to manage. It’s getting harder to manage. I just don’t have a passion for life. Maybe the medication is working, because I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel the least bit better. But the one this medication can’t do, is take away your feelings of wanting to die.