I'm very open about my depression and how much I want to die.
It still makes people a little uncomfortable but I can't help myself but to talk about it. I think it's to a point where it's almost like a joke.
I'm like the boy who cried wolf. Except everytime I've cried, I thought the wolf was coming, and each time it gets closer.
I got really close to going, tonight. When I'd think it through I used to feel bad or scared, but now it's just serene.
I know people care about me more than I can imagine, and that's a shame. I think I'm more okay with people secretly hating me, like I usually assume.
I also used to think a lot about my legacy. Think that I had to leave something notable behind. I don't care so much anymore. I don't have much hope that I'll ever do those things, regardless.
I had a note. It was clean and concise, and I'm pretty comfortable with it.
I also think a lot about trying heroin or getting on painkillers. But heroin is more romantic. I think of it a lot like being dead but with different consequences.
Heroin addiction would drag everyone who's tangled up with me into less of a mess, than my brains fertilizing the garden.
I don't remember the last time I was relaxed. I'm stressed out all the time. I'm even on the verge of a panic attack while I'm sleeping. My body aches. My bones hurt. I'm too tired for sleep to fix. And saying all this doesn't even give me relief. It makes me feel weak. I feel as though I was designed for a different world than this one. I guess that's a universal sentiment.
I suppose I'll hang on for now, but I don't know how long that will last. My fingers will slip, eventually. I figure it's only a matter of time.