Hit me like a ton of bricks.
I can’t live anymore, I don’t deserve to live anymore, this isn’t a life.
I’m screaming and crying on the inside, but on the outside I can’t even talk. I look bored if anything. Gog asks me something; I shrug or shake my head. I can’t talk or let out any emotion, because I’ll break into a million pieces.
I think this is why nobody understands when I’m really ill, because I don’t show it…I’m not sat here in tears, or screaming…I’m blank. Closed off. In the past I’ve told social workers I feel desperate and suicidal, but they saw someone who looked okay and judged me on that.
I wish people understood.
I sat staring at a suicide prevention online chat for over an hour tonight, trying to work up the courage to talk to someone…I don’t deserve to talk to someone, I’d be wasting their time…I finally hit the ‘chat to someone’ button, but all the trained volunteers were busy. I suck at talking to people anyway.
Gog’s here so I’m not in danger, unless I planned and timed it all very well, but I don’t think he’ll leave me alone anyway now. He knows I feel pretty damn bad.
I’m just too tired to talk. I physically can’t get the words out.
I’m extremely depressed. I’m anxious. I have this burning self-hatred and I feel like I’m drowning…I’m not good enough to live. I’m not good enough to talk to Gog. I don’t love him enough. I don’t tell him he’s good enough. It’s my fault things go wrong; it was my fault our puppy hurt her leg. I deserve to feel like this. I don’t deserve help. I’m a lazy, selfish, horrible bitch. I am disgusting.
I’m being worn down. I’ve been worn down.
This blog is so eloquent and I’m such a mess, I don’t understand it. I feel like this blog reads how I look on the outside.
I’m not in danger, that’s not the worry here. I wish it was the worry, I wish I could act on this…not knowing how long this is going to last is possibly the worst thing.