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Almost at the breaking point
I'm coming to a point now where I'm seriously considering suicide. I think about it all day long; the ways I could do it. How I would spend the last few days or hours. It's become an obsession. I write about it constantly. I write suicide notes and revise them obsessively, but I usually end up throwing them out. I don't think I actually would leave one. I don't want anyone to know the reason, when I don't even truly know the reason. I just know that I'm exhausted with myself and with my brain and how it's always over working and worrying and picking things apart. I hate not understanding why I am the way I am, why I'm so hopeless. Why I feel like I'm just meant to be unhappy. I feel like the only reason I'm here is just to be a cautionary tale that would be called "this is what happens when your head is in the clouds". I've always dreamed too much, and wished for too much. I wanted to be happy. I wanted to be in love. I wanted someone to hold my hand and tell me that I'm not as bad as I think I am. I'm not bad, but I feel like I am. I feel like I've wasted too much time on dreaming and writing my silly little stories and poems to get me through. I'm becomming so out of touch with reality, that I sometimes feel like I'm in another world. I convince myself that I'm not me; I'm someone else. I talk to people who aren't there. I'm not hallucinating physically or anything, I don't see something visibly there, I only pretend. But I answer myself. I pretend I have someone to talk to who understands. That I'm in love with someone. That someone loves me. I've been in a mentally abusive relationship for three years with a guy: before him I didn't have a boyfriend. He was my first, at 21. I'd dream of a boy who would love and care for me; who I'd laugh with and tell all my secrets to and who would hold me at night. I remember wanting a kiss more than anything in the world. I met him and everything got worse. Before him I was severely depressed. My young cousin was killed by a car riding his bike and I held him as he died broken and covered in blood in the street. It killed me inside. I couldn't sleep. The guilt was unbearable. I tried to take my own life twice and failed twice. I finally got out of the habit and convinced myself to wait for love. I wanted to see what it was like. I thought it could save me. I didn't find it though. I just found more grief and misery. I won't go into details because it doesn't matter now. All that matters now is that I'm almost at my end. That I can't take this anymore. That no longer will music or books or poetry I love save me from this. Nothing will save me: and when I attempt it the last time, I won't fail.
You are not alone. your life is so much more. please find someone to talk to there is a 800 # you may call for suicide. Call it they will listen and help. I have had thoughts and feelings as well for suicide but then think of what would happen after i think of what my mother, kids and husband would go through. PLEASE DON'T DO IT!!!
No, don't give in, please. For me, because it would break my heart? There is hope. I promise, you are special, beautiful, and someone needs you. I also know someone who loves you unconditionally. I wish I could give you a hug and be there to encourage you.