Maybe Six Feet Ain't So Far Down...

I've never wanted to die so badly in my life. I HATE feeling this way! What's even worse is that I can't talk to anyone about it. I think I hate that even more.

Well, ok: I don't WANT to die...I really don't. I want to have a happy, successful life...but depression sucks that away from a person. It drains you of everything good, and MAKES you want to die. Depression makes you feel like death is the only option in order to escape the horrible feelings of loneliness and all that come with being depressed.

I feel all happiness being sucked from me all the time. If something happens to me that makes me joyful, even for a moment, my depression is there to kill it. My depression is there to remind me of something awful in my life.

This is the hardest fucking thing I've ever had to battle in my life. And it feels like I've been depressed forever! I just can't seem to beat this shit.

I took my meds again today. I took them yesterday for the first time in a very long time...I hate taking them. I don't think they work. I don't think anything will work for me...I think I'm doomed to be fucking miserable forever.

AAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!

I still feel like dying. The feeling is overwhelming, actually. I've come very close a few times...but almost no one knows that. Mom certainly doesn't. Once, I had a jump rope tied around my neck and tied to a hook in the ceiling...I was getting ready to jump off the chair when I heard mom pull in the driveway, coming home from work and picking up my little brother from school. The guilt took over, and I quickly got down...I couldn't do that to my mother or little brother. Other times, I've held a knife to my wrists, or sat with a hand gun in my mouth. Just sat there, feeling the blade against my skin, or the metal between my lips. I get in this state of mind that is really hard to explain. It's this limbo between doing it and not doing it...I meditate on what would happen. What would happen if I jumped off the chair? If I allow the knife slice? Allow the gun fire? I know it's really sick, but that's just what goes through my mind...what would happen if I actually did it.

Obviously, I haven't. Each time, I come to my senses and I'm very shaken. I feel like another person takes over when I get in these moods...like I can't control my thoughts well enough to consider the weight of the consequences if something were to go wrong. I mean...I could have slipped trying to get that rope off my neck...sometimes I think about that. I think about how I could have slipped and hung myself. My family would have never known that I didn't want to go through with it...that I tried to get down. God, it makes me sick to think like that.

I've never confessed any of this to any of my therapists. They already treat me differently because I have suicidal thoughts...think of what they'd do if they knew I sit around with guns in my mouth! Jesus!

I don't know what to do. I'm scared to open up and talk to anyone about this shit, but it's killing me to have to bear it all alone.