Two weeks ago, I received some distressing news. I had an anxiety attack, and then another. I've nearly puked my guts up numerous times. At the end of last week, I had my first suicidal thoughts - not urges, just thoughts - in nearly a year and a half. I returned to see my doctor Wednesday. After brief discussion, she quickly decided that I'm past anxious and into a full blown depressive episode again. The suicidal thoughts have been stronger and more frequent. Again, they have not been urges so we're not at red alert right now. Just a very strong yellow (is there such a thing as a strong yellow?).
She instructed me in the interim to watch movies, because I enjoy them, and to blog, because that's been therapeutic for me. So here goes.
I feel overwhelmed, alone and helpless - just as I did throughout my Year of Hell. I'm scared. I'm resentful. I'm angry. I'm despondent. I just want to know where I can go and fall on my knees and shout, "ALRIGHT, I AM A FAILURE! I ADMIT IT!" so that the world will be contented enough to quit haranguing me about my being a failure. I know now that I will not enjoy the kind of happy, healthy, prosperous life that most do. I can sometimes distract myself enough about that that it doesn't overwhelm me and I can "live in the now" enough to not concern myself with such matters. But right now it seems that I'm besieged on all fronts with no way out. I can't even surrender and let that be that.
There seems to my logical mind only one true escape from it all, and that is death itself. That seems to be the only solution that will content the world; for me to no longer continue to be a burden on society held in daily contempt. It eats at me every day. I feel nearly hopeless; I'm clinging to one last shred of hope that may be extinguished by the end of next week. This is no way to live. I'm existing, having to defend myself even doing that to those who openly resent that fact.
I'm a failure. I admit it. I'm a burden, a leech and that's all I'll ever be. Isn't it enough for you that I admit these things, that I must live with that kind of shame and humiliation?
No one who is suicidal wants to be dead. They just don't want to continue living and they can't see any practical way of changing their lives. I'm there, again. Please, just let me surrender. Let me exist. I don't deserve it, I know, but I ask it all the same.