Merry fucking Christmas

I’m not going to do it, but I could, and that scares the hell out of me sometimes. It wouldn’t take much. A handful of pills, and it would be over.

The “over” part scares me. I don’t want it to be over. I just want it to be better.

I’m tired of having a shitty job. I’m tired of constantly feeling like I’m going to lose that shitty job, but I’m too afraid to look for another one. Rejection hurts too much.

I’m tired of not being able to pay my bills, having horrible credit, and feeling like a failure.

I’m tired of living with my parents at age 41, and being treated like, acting, and feeling like a child as a result.

I’m tired of having parents who don’t understand my mental illness issues. It hurts that they don’t even try. I’ve been in and out of counseling since age 5; they should know better. I’m tired of feeling isolated and hiding in my room waiting for criticism, which always, always comes.

I’m tired of always being alone. And feeling alone, even when I’m with people.

I’m tired of being single. I never wanted kids, but desperately want to find a partner in life.

I don’t know how to help myself. I can’t afford therapy. I live in the south right now, and literally all free mental health counseling is religious based (trust me, I’ve looked). I am an atheist.

My friends and siblings are all dealing with their own mental health issues. It’s hard to talk about your own struggles when you know the other person is also struggling. I don’t want to cause them more stress. And sometimes their struggling feels worse than mine.

I’m sick and tired of being sick and tired.