It seems like every move forward in life i make the farther down i fall. The more detached i become from reality. From myself. He might see hope. A place to actually start life. But i see a black void. I see things getting darker and worse. I dont see happiness. I wish i could. But instead i just see more stress. And the weed. The less said about it the better. It doesnt help at all. It just makes things worse. The thoughts dont stop. They just become easier to hide. People just THINK im ok. They just THINK its helping. With each passing second, that bridge down the road from me is looking more and more inviting.
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Same. I’m not sure what the options are anymore but I’m trying to keep alive until the feelings change because change is the only constant.
Smoking marijuana is the only thing I enjoy. I have been excited to commit suicide for the last 15 years. I just have to do a few things and then I will be committing… although I have faced pretty severe consequences for being caught with milligrams of weed on me. I suppose I may have someone who is creepily following me who reports me for these things… it is rather drab that this happens to me over and over again. I’d assume my creepy stalkers want to take away my ability to make my own decesions, I suppose because they are anti-suicide and manic about remaining in control. Not because they actually care about me at all. Anyhow, I really don’t want to be cared for, I’d love to end my life, but I’m sure they enjoy, get off on, keeping that out of my reach. When I finally am able and go to commit, all will be right. All’s well that ends well, I guess. I just hope it ends when I commit.