... What's the point of trying to pull myself out of it? What's the point of seeing a psychologist, what's the point of taking medication? It's happened 3 times in the past three years, feeling as low as this, playing with the idea of suicide.
Suicide. There, I've said it. It's a word I shy away from. It seems too blunt, too forthright, too hurtful. But what's the point of disguising if there's a pretty strong chance it'll happen anyway? I'm sure the act would hurt people far more than the word itself, though it's better for them. They won't realise that though, not now, and not ever.
I've considered it from every angle. I don't see how it couldn't possibly benefit everyone in the long run.
If I've succumbed to feeling like this three times in the past three years, then I'm pretty sure it's an issue that's going to come up often in my life. I don't want to burden people with responsibility every fucking year- they take it up on their shoulders when I let myself speak. They shouldn't, but they do. And to make it worse, I'm a fucking attention seeker. I crave attention like it's my lifeblood, a lifeblood constantly draining away from me and I gather in more and more and more and I let it sweep out as it all bunches in from the top. So people can't help knowing, and I can't stop myself from trying to get attention. I'm a fucking monster, I spring guilt on people.
I don't want to go through that every year, or every two years, or every three for the rest of my life. And neither do I want to rely on friends, or neighbours. And don't want to spare the expense of a psychiatrist or psychologist or medication to treat depression or bipolarity, whatever I have, for however long my existence is. It's painful enough as it is, going to bed wanting to run to the train station every night and fall asleep on the tracks. I can't remember the last night I wasn't crying. Last night I stopped in the middle of the hallway and collapsed on the floor and sobbed, and shook, and cried inhumanly. I don't even know how those sounds came out of my mouth. I fainted because I couldn't breathe. I was literally choking on my own sobs and I couldn't get any air in.
I know it's not a brave way out, I know it's a cowards choice, but I've never professed to being anything but a coward. I don't have anything to live for. What I would have to live for would be better off if I was gone.
I don't want to continue being a burden to the world for the rest of my life. If I end that 'rest of my life' soon, then I won't have affected it too negatively, yet.
Pretty sound argument, I think.