I love my cat. I have a roof over my head and a very nice bed, even if I spend too much time in it. I have a car, and a license. I have loving friends at church, despite having been agnostic for a while now, and I see my best friend since childhood every day. There is so much to be grateful for. But I don’t think I am capable of carrying on with these mood swings for much longer. No, I’m probably not going to attempt suicide, I’m too lazy to try, but the thought of staying here for years and years is terrifying. There’s also the fact that everything is temporary, whether it be happiness, drugs, or sex (which I am incapable of accomplishing, my libido leaves much to be desired). No matter how hard I try to stay positive, I know that eventually I will plummet back down into hopelessness. I honestly don’t want to commit suicide—contradicting, isn’t it? The thing is, if I do commit suicide, that would mean that life got so bad that I was able to overcome the laziness that keeps me from doing it. Then my poor mom, bipolar and in an unhappy marriage, will likely off herself, and my aforementioned best friend will get a crippling wave of depression and that would impede her efforts of getting into a prestigious university and being a total badass. I could go on and on about how this would affect everyone, but damn what if they read this and know I’m feeling this way? I’m always telling them I’m doing good. Oh, one last thing. My cat won’t know I’m dead because we can’t talk to cats and he’ll wait for me to come home for eternity. So not today, not today.
I hope you find your reasons to live, and I hope you begin to enjoy life again.