I would never end it all…I would never kill myself. It’s actually quite comical…or maybe its just comical in my twisted mind. I am depressed as fuck but my anxiety and extreme fear of death keeps me from actually doing anything along the lines of commiting suicide. Maybe I lucked out?
I think about it.
Confession: There was even a time when I was driving home and was on an empty country road after a particularly rough day and I was thinking about it and started pushing the gas pedal down more and more till I was going double the posted speed limit…still there being nobody on this road for miles I thought how easy it would be to just jerk the wheel and just be done. A few seconds later I came to my senses as the fear of death struck me…the fear of what would happen to the people I cared about. I slowed down…with another piece of sadness added to the pile.
That added piece was the sadness of having thought about it, having been that close. Having let myself get to that point. I felt guilty and ashamed for thinking about it but also scared. It made me think if I even belonged on the earth if I thought like that.
Everytime i think about it i feel guilty, ashamed, and worthless, and I give myself another reason to hate myself.
Yet I still think about it though, with the slight comfort of knowing that I couldn’t do it but the thought of if even belong here haunts me more and more. Makes me hate myself more and more, if thats even possible.
Its a vicious cycle
Am I suicidal? I like to think that i’m not. Do I have suicidal thoughts? Yes, I guess, but I like to think that because I know I wouldn’t carry them out that it isn’t as bad and therfore no.
So I continue to live in this haunted house. Every day it seems like another ghost moves in. Some of the ghosts presences are much stronger than others but they all keep moving in. Is the house ever going to reach full capacity?