Wednesday 12-22-21

Last night I was extremely unwell. I spent several hours just lying in bed, unable to bring myself to do much. I felt so alone, lying there in the dark. I wondered if anyone cares. I thought about how few reasons I have now to stay clean. I thought about how easy it would be to just kill myself. I thought about the reactions others would have to it, if I attempted and if I succeeded. I thought about what they would think if they found out I'd harmed myself, or had even just thought about it.

Imaginging those things is sometimes the only thing that keeps me going because it's so easy to imagine that they'd be upset. That they'd mourn. That they'd wonder where they went wrong.

Would [REDACTED] wonder, if he did something differently, would I still be alive? Would [REDACTED] wonder why I'd ever do that, or regret not noticing the signs? Would [REDACTED] wish she'd pushed me to get help, or paid more attention, or did more?

And when word reached [REDACTED] -- would they cry for me? Would they wish they did more?

I can't do it. I can't. I can't.

Flirting with death? Sure. I'll tie the belt around my neck and feel what the lead up would feel like. But I'll always remove it in time, for one reason or another. I don't really want to kill myuself, but it's sometimes nice to fantasize.

I'd hurt myself, sure. I want to right now. I might. But I don't know about hiding it. And when asked, I want to be able to tell the truth.

I'm so sick of lying.