I don't know how much longer I can keep going. My last 2 friends died this last year; I have pleasant acquaintances at work but there's no real contact with these folks, it's all surface. My family is long dead, I'm old enough (57) and sick enough (diabetes) that I know I won't live very many years anyway -- no one in my family ever makes it past about 61 or 62 and my sister & mom died at 59. So I feel like I'm just waiting to die, and this holiday season for the first time I'm afraid that instead of just thinking about it, like I always do, there's a good chance I'll go ahead and do it. Later in the day I can sometimes pull myself together, but I have to get up before sunrise to get ready for work and between about 4:00 a.m. and 7:00 a.m. all I want to do is die. The only positive things in my life are books, playing a role-playing game where I can get absorbed in the puzzles and forget for a while, and lunching with folks from work (who are glad to go if I'll organize it but never come and ask me out). The bad part is that all I really have is my job, and I think within a year I may get pushed out. In the meantime I'm having to count pennies; I have just enough to pay my doc, not sure I have enough to buy lunch with. I'm seeing my pdoc today, and if I can't get antidepressants that work I won't be on this group much longer. But this pdoc is the one who told me that the meds I'm taking for anxiety are enough to kill me -- I feel like she just put a weapon in my hands, because not having something I felt like I could use was another little thing I clung to as making it harder to die. Now it's just too easy -- all I have to do is get a fresh refill, write out a couple of notes and mail them, then take my pills and go to bed. It isn't even Thanksgiving yet and I'm already this way; I can't imagine what the weeks before Christmas will be l ike, and I'm not sure I can make it thru Christmas itself. No one ever believes me when I talk like this because over the years I've become so good at acting that the worst I ever appear is irritable when I'm depressed or ditzy when I'm anxious. That's why I just had to write here, where someone might believe me. I know that wanting to die is pathological, but it feels so logical and there's nothing else to grab onto to make me hope for better.