There use to be…

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A time in my life where I would listen to this music over and over and over hopin it would stir something in me, courage maybe to get my cowardly self up and kill my self. I hated bein me, I hated having to wake up, feel the way I did atoneing for my actions daily. I hated my life in a way that was so simple it made sense to end it all. What was this purpose? My presence is only hurting things, the planet, life. Another mouth to feed, another person to take care of, another tax payer living to pay bills. As I put the gun to my head I just didn’t understand what was keeping us all here why do we have this “survival” gene encoded in us. What makes us fear? Why do we fear?  All I knew was that I needed to go. Not to a far away place where my troubles resided still but to another place of another time, of another field, another dimension.  

I had my pick of any gun I wanted- i just separated from my husband (he kicked me out of he house) I was living with my friends ex bf who was a gun collector – most fully loaded some illegal, sitting in this room I choose three. She and he both knew I had been baker acted twice once for suicide, yet they still put me in this room to live till the house we were going to live in was finished remodeling but I had no choice because I had no where else to go… the last time I went home to my family was the first suicide attempt. 

So it’s around midnight thumb on the trigger for a long while safety off ready, waiting, I thought “I have nothing to live for, what’s the point? I have nothing, I’ve done nothing,” and I felt worthless… Then it was like a light bulb came on with two things… One; I’d feel awful if they had to clean my blood stains off the wall and two; that’s my purpose; TO MAKE all those questions mean something and my stubbornness kicked in and I thought I’ll make my life worthwhile, I’ll make my life memorable, I’ll make it a point to live. I rebelled against myself. It wasn’t until later I found my way but it was a stepping stone and a promise, I was by no means “better” or happier, it didn’t make me feel any better but I put it down with intention, not cowardness. I put it down knowing the journey ahead could mean more than just paying bills, more than just getting by

But as I write this here now I see that the last 3 years so much has gotten in my way. And I allowed it. I could give it all up, move away. Never to return. But where’s the life responsibility? How do you tell your brain damaged mother I’m never coming back? Who’s life is in a bad situation… how can I let her life be bad why I try to make mine? So I continue on this path of guilt. 

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Feeling this way…

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I’m exhausted, I hate feeling this way. I hate staring at the wall, at the computer waiting for something to change, wasting away to nothing. I can’t work for fear of panic attack, for fear of wanting to off myself because a person ticking me off to bad. I’m afraid of going back to school because of the stress that it will put on me and the anxiety that will fill my mind to do better and be the best at my grades. I always want to be the best I always push myself to far; at work and at school and when I don’t ahcieve those things I feel like a failure.

I know that the only change that I’m going to see is not the change I am going to see, but the change of what I’m going to feel and the change is only going to happen by doing something but fear has it’s grasp around my throat and my PTSD, BPD BLAH BLAH etc… won’t allow me to change unless i receive some type of help that I AM NOT RECEIVING at this moment because my insurance and therapists like to go on vacations at the very moment I get out of the hospital… fantastic huh? SO I sit here writing you guys, complete strangers for some virtual support for likes and comments of what idk, but in some way it helps to vent.

I feel like I fail everyday… last night I almost put the gun in my mouth… almost pulled the trigger… I thought at midnight what it would be like to die, my mom, my sister, but then I thought, who would take care of my dog? My preciousness living child, that I love so much? That I would do anything for? Who would love her as much as I? the answer? NO ONE. No one could love her as much as I would. So that stopped me. Because I know that SHE and my HUSBAND love me through all my faults, through all my ups and all my downs, all my spouts of depression, happiness (barley), sadness, hurt, anger, love (kind of), THEY are there for me.

I bet your wondering why was it my dog first that saved me and not my husband? Well, my husband too has a disorder, and if he would have found me dead, I would have meet him in hell a few moments later. That I know.