I don’t know if anyone remembers my last post, titled numb. Basically i explained what happens when i go numb. I cut off all feeling, i am in a haze, it takes so much energy to pull out for 30 min. so i can act okay. But i sink deeper and deeper until i cut, and then i’m fine again. i haven’t cut since March, and I’ve been okay. Until now. I’m starting to fall again, and i don’t know why. The only person i can talk to is my friend Skye, because she the only person i know and trust at my new school. We started high school this year, and it’s hard because only 1 of our friends goes to our new school. and i can trust him i just cant tell him everything. I don’t know why i’m upset, but i started to fall Monday and i’m already close to my breaking point. i’m just confused and scared and i don’t know what to do, because i refuse to cut again. it just can’t happen.
Shift yourself from this grave..side to side ..consider yourself for the first time in a millennia. Look up to the sky..consider you’ll live again.
Drifting up from your sleep..in a haze to what the world has become. Shake a breath for the wind..show no fear for the light…and slowly breath in.. Exhale!
Search for strength, beneath your bleeding heart. Behind the crimson lines you’ve drawn tighter still. Reset trap door thoughts of letting the world collide with the emptiness inside. Hold on..dare to hold on..hold on tight to life even when the lines break from their binds.
Hold onto your hope so tight. Dampen the screams with your love. Drown out the sound of the cries. Hold it down and squeeze so softly..let that part of you die. No blame for the life you’ve forsaken, when it’s gone we could never know why. You can pray to god you will be whole again..if you would throw all your hopes to the sky. But no one is there to catch them.
Say goodbye to forgiveness, when all you are is a lie. If living could mean one thing, One would think..it meant everything when you still tried. And now giving it up for the moment..at your darkest hour in life. Lifting the burden from burning wings, and saying hello to the light. Lifting yourself from the curse of living..and facing the fear of the fight. Show your strength this one last time!
You are all the heart of this world, beating, bleeding, breathing a new life. Fighting the worlds wars against right. The wrong path down the wrong road, and still holding out through the strife. The all seeing eye and all knowing mind of this make believe Zion..this plate we have piled on. So sick in its taste from what the world relies on. Waving one flag, one hate , for one chorus that rings true to this day..a truth so desperate to be sung…and with purpose marching forward into the dawn. Beyond your darkest hour!
From the outside I have it all. Unfortunately my mind is plagued with trauma, depression, and intense anxiety… leaving me in an existential haze in order to cope; I am merely going through the motions. I used my looks and my body to get through college and thought I would regain my sanity afterwards, but thats not the case. I now have a useless degree, too many therapists, lost a soul mate, and a mind that won’t cease come nightfall. I am a useless plastic los angeles doll. Luckily, I managed to figure out the underground Silk Road market. I obtained hundreds of dollars (that middle aged men threw at me on a stage in west hollywood) and traded it for Bitcoin. I debated for days as to which way I would make my exit, with the silk road your options are vast. From potassium cyanide to opiates and barbituates… I ultimately could not choose, so I bought the cyanide powder from Spain and opiates and barbs from India. All has arrived but my last package of morphine. I know I am lucky in this that I will not have to resort to leaping off a bridge or eating bullet (I’m not a fan of public displays, believe it or not with my occupation, kudos to those who have the courage to do so though). I’ve sublet my apartment and donated all my clothes to goodwill (all but enough for one carry on suitcase) and am scheduled to leave the 2nd ( 12 days?) from today. Here’s where I would like via feedback:
If you had the means to travel (by air or train, train kind of excites me and would give me time to settle my mind before fully doing this) where would you go? I was thinking the Grand Canyon or some other beautiful natural place… rent a lodge for a few nights and on my last night, drift off into the universe, leaving my soul with the natural world surrounding me. I also wish there was a way to keep my death anonymous, so friends and family would think I just took off to Siberia and a tribe in Africa to volunteer (which is something they would expect).
If anyone is in the area and would like to talk hit me up. Or if you need help configuring the Silk Road/Bitcoin situation, I can help with that as well.
It seems that when I was I was honest with myself, I at least had the comfort of knowing that I could maybe fix the problem. I feel hopeless and feel like I still lie to myself. Iâ€™m in disastrous relationships. Plural. And I donâ€™t have my family around to being me down to earth or make me feel like Iâ€™m not alone. Iâ€™ve ruined my relationship with my best friend from high school and I donâ€™t really talk to anyone exceptÂ my boyfriend anymore and maybe my parents from time to time. I encircle myself with â€œfriendsâ€ I do not feel suit me anymore. How do I let go of that pride and anger that keeps me mending my relationship with my best friend from high school? Should I even amend the damage that was done? Am I too needy now to hold on to friends like that. In high school, even though I did not have a boyfriend and even though I was not popular much, AT LEAST I had the comfort of having a few friends I could kick back laugh and have fun with. I donâ€™t have that anymore and I have become bitter. Itâ€™s ironic how this is exactly what I would have wanted in high school give or take a few friends more in my junior year. But how I long to have exactly what I had in high school over this. My friends would not be the problem. My parents would. Now I have somewhat mended if not given up on the relationship I have always wanted with my parents. I know I will never have what I have wanted but I came to peace with that a year or so ago. How do I step out of haze of depression and anxiety that holds me back? . I had a huge drinking problem in my sophomore year of college. I was also suspended for my grades after my sophomore year, which really gave me a jolt of reality. Â I have had suicidal thoughts ever since the beginning of my sophomore year. I thought I came back stronger after getting two straight semesters of straight Aâ€™s in community college,getting back into my current university, and fixing my drinking problem. No one except my family and my boyfriend know I had been suspended. I still have suicidal thoughts frequently especially when I fight with my boyfriend. I have two more years of college now because I am now a year behind all my â€œfriends.â€ They are graduating this semester including my boyfriend. Now itâ€™s a matter of being able to branch out and be my own person again. Make friends with people I want to be friends with, stop focusing on the bullshit and build a life for myself I am proud of. Should I break up with my boyfriend if I feel he facilitates this behavior by â€œbabyâ€-ing me? Or should I remain committed? I would be so lonely without him since I lost the friends I had- and the ones I have left I do not want to have. He would not be lonely because he always tries to make new friends and be friendly to everyone. In fact, sometimes he is overly friendly and it makes me feel overshadowed. Everyone definitely likes him better as a person, or so it feels. I donâ€™t think Iâ€™ve felt comfortable in my own skin ever since 7th or 8th grade of middle school, but this year is one of the worst itâ€™s felt . I have terrible social anxiety and depression. How do I feel comfortable in my own skin ever again?
I never thought I could feel this way. Missed connections. That alone was the miraculous thing. How and why did it turn out this way… I will never understand.
I feel like I’m missing the ability to form human connections.
I’ve been floating in this haze of the present for too long without doing anything useful, so I’m giving it one last shot. One final push before calling it quits. One final try to get back on my feet before I say fuck it and give up. Either way, I won’t be coming back here. Either because I succeeded, or because I failed, it’s irrelevant and will be irrelevant to everyone here by next week. It has nothing to do with the people here; I love you guys. That just brings me back to that opening sentence, though. It’s a problem with me that I can’t shake. I’ve lived my entire life with barely any human connection to speak of, and now I feel like it’s beyond my understanding.
So I have options. Either I progress, or I regress.
That’s really all there is to it.
If I do come back at all, it’ll be in a very limited capacity – I’ll be busy elsewhere.
This song is really close to home for me, I thought a lot of you could probably relate.
Am I just floating around in this moment of time and space? It makes me wonder. A state of mind, ’cause I’m just fading away, and my head is lost up in the satellites. I’m so far and gone to ever get it right. Through unseeing eyes, day dreaming again.
Eternity is seemingly an endless waiting. Lost in forever. Eternally, a limitless time. It’s never ending. I’m lost in forever.
Am I just hanging around all alone in my mindless haze? It takes me under. The infinite confined ready to blow you away. I’m too blind to see beyond the dead of night, but my spirit groans to see the after life. I’m so broken and small. Come here and take me away.
It just goes on, and on, and on, on.
I just came across this site this afternoon. It’s actually the exact sort of place I had always looked for before, when the darkness always took over. Any time I googled anything about suicide, it was always for help, for “don’t do it” articles, for getting over depression. I realized somewhere along the way, this isn’t something you “get over”, it is always with us. True, it has been a while (less than a year…which is a very long time for me) since I’ve been there, drowning in that blood-red sea with no sign of hope on the horizon, but it’s still in me. I realized being so raw all the time, I see the world differently than the people I know who have never been here. When I come out of the haze, this world is so much more beautiful than I ever remember it being. I’ve been in a bit of a high the last few months, relatively content most days, feeling everything that comes my way and more importantlyÂ experiencingÂ it. I’ve been trying to live my life outside of the typical norm. I’ve been trying to stay away from all the negativity in the media and (a lot of) people and focusing on what is most important. I’ve been getting out of my head and into my body (moving, you know…it’s kind of a good thing). The smiles I wear for the people I love feel more real each day, some days I don’t even have to force myself to do it. I do have to remind myself that life is worth living, because it’s all we will ever have. I do have to stop myself from sinking. I test those dark waters, sometimes too closely and fall in a bit. I probably listen to far too much of The Cure and Joy Division for someone who is trying to be happy. But you know what? Maybe some of us aren’t supposed to be happyÂ or sad, but both at the same time. Does that seems so crazy? That we just accept it as part of individual makeups and continue on with life, as simply and uncomplicated as we can, even letting go of that last bit of sanity, only so that we may continue to breathe?
I don’t know…I’m sure it’s different for everyone. All I know is that I’m a genuinely positive person, normally the bubbly type, who is happy and sad all at the same time, living life as fully as I allow myself to. I know I’ll be back here some day with much less light to shine, but until then I will return to help if it is wanted.
Speaking of help, I often watch this (sometimes daily) as a reminder that we are all terribly insignificant, possibly here by complete accident, and therefore even more precious than if we had been purposely created. Â (http://youtu.be/4PN5JJDh78I)
I hope you are all having relatively good days.
numbness of the mind
rots inside its self
begging you to be kind
only to yourself
i want what i cant have
numbness makes me aware of this
another threatening stab
killing whats left
god why?god why? god why?!?!
I don’t what is wrong with me as I sit here all I can think about is killing myself and how I would do it. I don’t think I have a reason to want to kill myself. I just can’t it out of my head. Just seeing the blood running out of my body and the sleepy haze that comes with it. I just don’t know why I want to do it or keep thinking about it. What do I do?
I write a lot of poetry that comes from within when I can no longer express myself clearly. It can be what I’m doing at the moment or what’s pulsing inside. It must get out. I used to draw by hand and every blue moon I will draw one thing. But my art is not what it used to be. I am not what I used to be.
My drawing as a kid at in school got me in trouble. I did it during class when what I was learning didn’t interest me. Teachers would take my notebook, or scold me. One kept my notebook and I never got it back. I tried to smash my drawing hand on things to stop it from being creative. I used my fist, or a book, or I step on it. That hand would not stop.
When I reached high school the teasing started. I drew dark creatures, or nude models from my own mind and I’d get scolded again and teachers had to complain and my parents chimed in. I vowed to stop. drawing was my addiction, but it wouldn’t. I safety pinned my hand. running the pin through the top skin and ripping it out until I couldn’t find a calloused path. I wasnt trying to bleed. Just hurt the hand that didn’t know how to stop. /the pain was enough to cause my hand to tremble and to keep it from drawing for a day. Cold water stung and warm water soothed. I did this only 3 times. that one high school year. I stopped. Not because I wanted to, but because I wasnt going to use any safety pin except the one from the dry cleaners. And we hadnt gone in a while.
10-12th year my art started to struggle. No new ideas and my hand would tremble when I picked up an ink pen. Nothing would seep through my fingertips the way it needed. Soon I turned to poetry. Something I refused to do for awhile because no one could appreciate the complexity of it. Hand drawn art you had to use your own mind and find the story. Poetry in a way is too plain as day at times. Sadly now it’s all I really have.
A tired hand that has seen hell and for now seems to work. I type what I feel, because the other is nearly lost. Oh abstracts have been stronger, but other things seem to weak. animals, trees always week. And the eyes…the eyes still survived my trials. That’s all I can keep now is eyes and abstracts. ‘The eyes see all, and the abstract around it tries to keep the eye from itself.
I’m tired now. So I need to fade back and rest.
Who do I tell? Everyone has their own fallouts, their own personal tragedies to battle with. Even the ones that don’t have cracks in their windshields have no mileage on their speedometer; they haven’t the time to slow down and pick up a hitchhiker. It’s understandable. I can’t truly decide whether I could stand to let myself be carried along anyway, becoming the problem in someone else’s existence. The bump in the road that needs to be filled in, poured up with concrete until it is as smooth and solid as they go. It never seems like it is out of choice, and when it is, it’s always horrific.
Nonetheless, this haze just will not lift. So indescribable and yet undeniably familiar. The absence of feeling, of sensation — and yet the presence of something unbearable that just evades my definition. They’ve called it a lot of things, but who knows. Who honestly knows.
So I run my finger down my friend’s list again. A slow scroll upwards, followed by another back down. I know the names. Most of them are lies, crafted carefully to present the face we wish we were. I’m no different. Usernames give us wish fulfillment and blank slates to colour in with any shades we choose.
And I can’t choose. I can’t choose a name to burden with this whirring of cogs, this screaming of silence and sluggish panic that nips at my skull like a parasite. I can’t explain how my time is passed in shards, vaguely pursuing hobbies that no longer bring me the slightest bit of pleasure. I can’t explain how only in the short moments after waking do I feel a slight reprieve, often rolling around on my mattress trying to sleep in order to experience this break in reality’s tapestry. I can’t explain how the sporadic chunks of food I’ve eaten from time to time are dull, tasteless and essentially less preferable to the hungry yawning pit of an empty stomach. I can’t explain how even forgetting to mention my name amongst others, how casually mentioning a conversation that I was not involved in… It hurts.
Seeing you all happy is both wonderful and terrible. It warms me slightly, to know you’re all laughing on that side of the screen with big happy smiles and a clear mind. Underneath that, an icy knife slices away at my mind knowing I can’t share that with you. Please, I’m so happy for you. So happy and so terribly sad –Â but not for you. Not yet.
I flip through the pages of 1001 Arabian Nights, a book lying around with no particularÂ reason to do so. I dimly wonder whether finding a short verse that would adequately resonate with me would help. A number of beautiful lines catch my eye, but none of them seem to fit. I find myself reciting the stolen poetry to my friends, which goes quite unnoticed. Why I feel the need to pass it on is a mystery.
I settle on this extract:
Being too weak even a shirt to wear.
I marvel not that my soul wastes away
But that my body can your absence bear.
Still, it’s not right. The poem isn’t addressed to anybody; no-one left me with the weight of love. If anything, I wonder whether the words can be addressed to everyone, whom I ache to love and yet find that I can’t do so without causing storms. Even this does not seem to make much sense to my situation, but my will to searchÂ for a more suitable poemÂ has gone. I put the book down and turn back to my computer.
It’s hard when the only friends you have are people you have never made eye contact with, or shared a whisper with, or caught a bus with, or just given a hug to.Â They’re all I have. I decide again that as desperate as I am, I can’t tarnish that with my rust like I have so many times before.
I click on the Samaritans website instead. A futile gesture, but I have to do something other than lie in peace upon my bed for my own safety. I know I can’t call them. The idea of sending an email glances across my mind but barely leaves a mark; I distantly consider the possibility of creating a new email address just so the organization couldn’t possibly know me if they wanted to when the thoughts shut down again out of apathy.
Another pointlessÂ look over my friends, conveniently arranged in alphabetical order, before winding up on this website. My last post terrified me enough to delay a return trip until now. Surely, I thought, someone had read my confession and seen the despicable nature of it. They would tell me so. The words would be chosen to wound, and wound they would, albeit slowly and with a great deal of overdramatic languishing on my part. I couldn’t bear to see that response I was so afraid to hear, but which I knew myself to be deserving of.
It wasn’t present. Three comments, and not one of them damning. Just looking at them, barely even reading theÂ sentences but scanning them as a whole with occasional words leaping into the front of my mind and sticking like honey, relieved some kind of pressure. A piston jarred into life and steam billowed from the back of my head. My muscles loosened. Time became a regular rhythm again. I realized how cold my hands were.
Thank you for your replies. The night is not over, and there are likely hundreds and hundreds to go.
This place is so familiar, this place that I always come back to. Chainsmoking my way through a lonely night, endlessly surfing the net to distract my mind. Radio, TV, Twitter, facebook, scroling scrolling, clicking clicking – only turning off the light when I know that sleep will be instantaneous.
I’ve tried blaming it on circumstance, the balance in my bank account, my parents marriage, failed relationships…but this thing, this thing is always with me. I move and it comes with me, I hide, it finds me, I embrace it and it kills me.
I don’t know what it is, restless fatigue and itchy bones and a mind that just can’t focus. This disconnected haze that I walk through every day, trying to recognize anything in anyone – and failing.
The thoughts, when they come are just so practical. Weighing up pros and cons, family so far away that sometime’s they don’t even factor into my considerations. It’s so selfish. I try to make myself feel better, by plotting to do it by throwing myself off some bridge so some trained police diver finds me and not my flatmates.
I’m still here though, because it goes. I know it will be back, but despite all my thoughts…I’m so afraid of what’s next.
i can’t seem to put into words exactly how i feel. I’m 26 and alone. Grade A (or F) loser. No car, job, friends. I have no drivers license. I’ve never had one. Had a girlfriend once. Only person I opened up to, but still withheld a lot. Wasn’t very ambitious in life. Don’t blame her for leaving me. Spent most of my life in a haze it seems. Ready to die may do it this weekend. Tried killing myself seven months ago by charcoal burning. Room got to hot and I blacked out woke up outside of hotel room. Felt stupid and even worse for failing so hard. Went to mental health ward and got help. Stopped seeking help once I got out. I live with a friend who I hardly talk to and his mom. They opened house for me, but will soon kick me out. Don’t blame them. Just ready for whatever this is to end. Friday night I may do it. Don’t want to walk into oncoming traffic, but just may do it. End hopeless and apathetic life for good. A miserable existence coming to a pathetic end. Have had hard life, not hard as others. Feel ashamed for feelings but can’t shake them. I can’t care about anything except wanting to die. Not scared of death, but scared of failing to kill myself.Â Just wanted to get it off my chest to someone. I just hope one day people can truly live happy lives.
I just registered for this site, like, literally five minutes ago, and I must say, I’m still a little overwhelmed that a website like this even exists (in a good way(I think)).
I guess I’ll just say it… approximately eight months ago, I tried to kill myself.
I’ve been struggling with severe clinical depression since I was 8 years old. The fact that I was considered a social pariah at school didn’t help matters. I have a recorded IQ of 145, but I was failing almost every class. I was capable of getting a 4.0, but I ended up graduating with a 2.6. I just stopped caring. I never studied for tests. Never turned in homework. My teachers all thought I was an idiot. They actively avoided calling on me in class.Â And when I actually found the smallest bit of motivation to turn in an assignment or actually do well on a test, I was accused of cheating. After the second accusation, I stopped talking completely at school. It started out almost as a social experiment to see how long it would take for someone- anyone to notice something was wrong. It didn’t work the way I had thought it would. After nearly a month of silence,Â I realised that no-one at school cared enough to notice. I startedÂ cutting and burning myself (more often thanÂ before anyways). Â
It was less than three weeks before graduation, and to be honest, I had been in a depressed haze for weeks, if not months.Â I had been planning it for… quite a while. I had decided to do it at school for no other reason than that my parents were home. I locked myself in the handicapped bathroom (for privacy, I guess) and I swallowed about 40 trazadone (sleeping pills). As I swallowed the last handful of pills,Â my stomach started to rebel against the poison I had ingested and my head started to spin, and I began thinking that maybe I didn’t want to die just yet. I sat there for a few minutes, my suicide note sitting beside me. As myÂ vision blurred and my stomach began to burn with what seemed to be all the fires of Hell, I realised I was scared. That in itself was really no big deal. Lots of people get scared. For me it was a big deal. I hadn’t been scared- Hell I hadn’t felt much ofÂ any emotion for the past 6 months.
All of a sudden, I thought of how people would react to what I had done.Â Despite my “less-than-jovial” moodÂ for the past several years, I still knew that I had people who cared about me; my family, my friends from church. And I was ashamed to admit (even to myself) that I hadn’t considered how my actions might affect them.
I still wasn’t quite sure what I was doing, but I knew I needed help. I got up from the floor and stepped out of the bathroom. I was in the basement, and no-one was around.Â Once vertical, the dizziness and the nausea increased ten-fold. And I kept thinking to myself “Holy shit, I’m dying. I’m fuckingÂ dying.” I tried to make it up the stairs, trying toÂ get to the nurses office, or at least to one of the classrooms on the first floor.
I didn’t make it. I couldn’t.
I collapsed halfway up the stairs (Of course, I just happened to choose the most un-used staircase in the entire school).Â I managed to sit myself up and lean back against theÂ Â wall.
I started talking to myself, or maybe to God . I’m still not really sure. I was begging for the pain to stop. It felt like my stomach was eating itself.
By then, I had already vomited once, and I knew I needed to get the drugs out of my body somehow. I stuck my fingers down my throat, trying to purge myself of the poison. It worked, but not as well as I’d hoped. I kept trying, but I was getting too sleepy to even sit up straight.Â I think itÂ was after about the sixth time I’d managed to vomit that I finally just leaned my head back against the wall and gave up. I closed my eyes.
I’m not sure how much time passed, but someone found me. It was a substitute teacher. I had met her a few times before. She was nice. I’m not entirely sure she knew exactly what was going on, but she told someone to get the nurse.
Five minutes later, I found myself in a wheelchair, sitting in the nurse’s office.Â She seemed to be a little more aware of what my symptoms meant. She kept on asking me if I had taken anything. She must have re-worded the question half a dozen times, but my answer was always “no”. I may have realised what I had done was wrong (completely idiotic is more like it), but that didn’t mean I was ready to admit what I had done to someone I barely knew.
At some point I noticed there were other students there.Â Kids I knew…. just… watching, like spectators at a sporting event.
I kept falling asleep, but the nurse would always shake my shoulder to wake me up. She called my mother at some point. Even though she wouldn’t let me fall asleep, I was far from lucid at that point.
My mom got to the school within ten minutes of being called and she seemed to be as suspicious as the nurse, who was still trying to get me to admit to what I had done.
My memory gets a little fuzzy at this point. All I know is my mother took me to the closest hospital, and on the short drive there, even though I don’t remember it, my mom says I finally admitted to taking the pills.
Once at the hospital, the doctors and nurses had questions that I didn’t want to answer, but did anyway because I was just far too sleepy to protest or be my usual stubborn self.
I spent about six hours in the ICU (or what passed for an ICU in such a small hospital). They put an IV in, gave me oxygen through a nasal canula and kept an eye on my blood pressure and heart rate (which were bothÂ extremely low). During that time my twin sister, Sara sat with me, asking me more questions I didn’t want to answer. My mom also sat with me for small intervals of time. And, of course, our church’s pastor came by for a quick prayer and a pep talk.
After ascertaining that I was no longer in danger of dying, the doctors sent me to a larger hospital about half an hour away (a hospital equipped with a state of the art psychiatric ward).Â I stayed there for a total of six days. To be honest, it was actually rather pleasant. The other petients were kind (I was the youngest person in the ward), and the nursing staff even more so.
The only thing I really didn’t like was the doctor I was assigned- or, to be more accurate, his questions.
“Have you ever tried to commit suicide before?” (Yes. Twice, in fact)
“Have you ever been abused, sexually or otherwise?” (No, but way to put such a sentitive question so bluntly)
“Have you ever cut,Â burned, or otherwise engaged in self-mutilation?” (Yes, quite a lot, actually)
“Is there any history of mental instability in your family?” (Not that I knew of, but my parents waited until then to drop that bombshell on me)
After six (suprisingy uneventful) days, I was allowed to leave the hospital under the conditions that I stay supervised by my parents, and start going to group therapy sessions (every day, might I add) until the doctor said I could stop. Oh, and did I mention they lasted five hours?
The sessions, like the psych ward, were surpisingly pleasant. Admittedly, I didn’t say a single word the first two days, but the people were nice. I could relate to them. Once again, I was the youngest person there by at least five or six years, and some of theÂ older patients seemed to find me charming (no idea why)Â And the doctor was a pretty cool guy. He was very understanding of my various quirks (like my urge to sit on the floor to stretch out my legs, or my compulsion to always keep my hands moving). The same could not be said of any other doctor I’ve ever had (or teacher for that matter).
In the end, the doc finally got me to talk about what I had done. Maybe not to the extent he would have liked, but it was more than anyone else had gotten from me.
I am now living at home, getting ready to start college this coming Fall.
And I’m terrified that it will end up being just as horrible as high school.
I’d like to say I’m doing great andÂ thatÂ nothing can bring me down, but that just isn’t the case. Because of the reaction from my family and friends, I don’t think suicide will ever be an option for me again (or at least I hope not), but this depression is killing meÂ all on it’s own
I barely sleep, and if I eat one square meal in a day, I considerÂ it a win. I’m almost bipolar in the way I treat my friends. First I’m completely closed off, then I’m an open book. I snap at my parents (which I’ve almost never done). And, for the first time in my life, I kicked my dog, because he was annoying me. I felt so bad I laid on the floor with him for two hours crying and telling him I was sorry. I’ve been getting what I think are panic attacks.
I’m glad I didn’t die that day, but I just wish I could go back to being the person I was…. Or I at least wish that I could stop hating the person I’ve become