It's superbowl Sunday, Feb 1st 2009. To be completely honest I'm really surprised I'm even alive to write this. When I was 11 I decided that one day I would commit suicide. I didn't want to make it past 18, but I did, 2 weeks after my last suicide attempt I got pregnant with my daughter. Now she's my world and really everything I live for, if not for her the only thing holding me back would be the question of what comes to those who commit suicide? Is there life after death? Where will I go if anywhere? Which I think in the end wouldn't count for much whenever I could work up the courage to end this pointless fight. At times I'm over excited and over confindent about my future, I can't wait to accomplish my goals and dreams. I want to be an EMT and eventually a paramedic. Right now I don't have a clue what the future holds for me. I wonder a lot if I will be around to watch my daughter grow up and if so, how alive will I be? What I mean is, will I always be this unhappy, this uneven, this well, FUCKED UP? I don't know! I don't know shit is basically what it comes down to. Who knows? I'm such a fucked up peice of work. Have I ever really been happy, do I even know what happiness is? Hell no, this shit started when I was 11, never had a chance to be happy. Back then it was just seasonal depression which year after year got worse till it was all year round, 24/7. I almost miss that, at least it was constant. Yeah, it was constant, I really do miss it, isn't that some fucked up shit. I truly honestly miss it. I just want to feel level. I want this fight in my head to be over. I'm sick of meds, nothing seems to work, I have unbearable side effects with everything. Fuck this man, I don't understand what the point of people dealing with this shit is. I don't know. I wish I was more manic more often.
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