The month that started all this shit in 2018. I wrote that fucking note and got sent away with my sisters. I had the problems for years beforehand, but I guess that was the first “scare” where I was genuinely going to try at some point to end it. On the 21st I moved away, telling her goodbye, never seeing her in person since. It fucked so much up. It made me unreliable to everyone, I wasn’t there so I couldn’t help with anything. This happened all right before my mom’s birthday, too, so I fucked that up as well. I’m not stupid enough at least right now, to keep thinking about what could’ve been done, but that won’t stop me from hating myself for it. That and not seeming to learn to keep my mouth shut. I think I’m getting better. At least I have this place. But, maybe not for long.
Everything is just fucking crumbling. I keep hearing about all this scary shit in the world and it racks my anxiety up so badly I can’t sleep or eat or think. It’s in our personal life too. My parents – especially my mom – are struggling a lot right now and they’ve made it pretty clear they’re kinda giving up too. After my mom told me about some stuff going on I straight told her I’d probably end myself before it all got really bad. There’s nothing to even live for in this world anymore. It’s all crumbling and I can’t believe it’ll get better.
I’ve been crying the majority of the day – having to keep quiet as I don’t want to make things worse for my mom – she’s having a particularly bad day. But I’ve been looking up methods all day as well, of course any basic research is difficult as all you get is a number to call. I’m so mentally tired I can’t do any meaningful research. I want something easy, something not too daunting, ignoring the fact that the goal is death either way. I keep hearing that thought. Do it just do it. I had terrible sleep last night because of nightmares. I’m wanting to die even in my dreams.
I don’t mean to hurt anybody, but I’m not strong enough to deal with any of it. This life, myself, all the horrors and pain in between. There’s no point in anything I do. Nothing I do is going to benefit the world in any way. My art or imagination doesn’t matter. Any effort to make things better is simply miniscule compared to everything else, and there’s not like there’s anything one can do anyway. I already feel as if I’m dying in this life, why on earth should I continue? I suppose one good thing is that I’ll get to choose my death, rather than it being some gruesome form of it like everyone’s talking about. I feel like I’m surrounded and followed by dark clouds all the time. It’s so draining. I’m so tired, damn it. I’ve been fighting thoughts and tears all day and for so much longer. It’s only going to continue, it’s not a life worth living. Not for me. Props to whoever has the strength to carry on, wish I was like you. But I’m not. It’s like there’s a boulder on my back and for some reason I continue to try to stand?? Why would anyone put their self in that kind of suffering? Don’t worry, there’s plenty of self hatred to drive me to this decision as well. A lot of the stuff that’s happened is my fault. A lot of failed relationships are my fault because I either can’t shut up or I shut down and they just get tired. Why bother meeting anybody? Why bother doing anything? I’m truly so tired and hurt from it all.
Fitting feeling for this month so far, I’d say. Same feelings that fucked me over long ago, but 10x worse. Didn’t even think I could get to that point. I guess if I could go back in time to talk to that dumb kid I’d tell her if she’s gonna do it make it fucking quick. I can’t even imagine making it to tomorrow. Yesterday was so fun, too. My friend came up and I helped her experience Halloween for the first time. Trick or treating, movies, playing video games and whatnot. I got sugar high which made me even more hyper and excited. I was probably annoying as shit. Even our costume idea was fun. I don’t understand how I can be so happy one night and miserable the next morning. I fucking hate my head. Right now honestly I hate everything. I don’t know why but I texted her this morning when I woke up. To let her know I was thinking of her. My nightmares lately have been about her. Just wanted her to know I still care. Even though she may not. Part of me hopes I can hear from her one last time before I act on whatever plan I decide on. Everything is so damn bleak and unlovable.
I think however I’m going to be disposed of, I want my stuffed dog with me. It’s been a comfort all these long years. Possibly the bear she gave me, too, but maybe they’ll want them for memory’s sake. I don’t know.