2017-10-31

Usually I love Halloween. I love autumn and leaves and wind and coats and pumpkins and cold and mittens and all the other things to do with this time of year.

So why am I suicidal?

I'm on meds again, following my last journal entry. Not Sertraline this time - Citalopram, which worked quite well for a bit but has started to wear off really. I guess they're probably fine still, in some ways. They definitely improved my anxiety for a little while, at least.

I can't stop drinking. And I'm an awful person when I'm drunk. I hate it. I'm entitled and stubborn and self-obsessed and irrational and I can't make it stop. And then this all happens and then I feel awful and I feel like I'm never going to be any better. But the worst thought is - what if I'm not actually sick? What if I am literally just a bad person?

Dan says that he thinks it's reached the point where people can tell I'm sick, but - what if I'm not? What if it's a front? What if I'm just making a fuss over nothing?

And that thought makes me want to die more than anything. I don't deserve to live like this, and I don't deserve to inflict it on anyone else.

Oh, ignore me, Kitty. You've heard my suicidal thoughts for longer than anyone, and you of all people will know I'm not likely to act on them.

Although...

It feels different this time. I feel more desperate. It's not even so much that I want to die - I just want it all to stop. Me, my life, my embarrassments, my responsabilities, and all the pain and stress I'm causing other people.

I need a break. I need to leave. I need an escape. And I'm genuinely afraid of what I might do to myself.