As I sit outside my job, on a smoke break, I pen this “article” in one of the worst depressive episodes I have had since 2011. For those of you who don’t know, that was the year in which I last seriously attempted to take my own life. I cannot even count how many times the thought of taking my life has passed through my head today. Everything looks to be an opportunity to end it all. Broken glass, a vending machine, an electrical outlet, my belt, a tree, they all seem to call to me to just do it.
What possibly makes this worse than my episode in 2011, is that I don’t even want to die. The thought of dying suddenly seems to be more effort than it’s worth. I am so depressed that dying doesn’t even seem like it could end my suffering. Which I suppose is a good thing, not wanting to die. Yet, it feels like it is so much worse. That even by ending my life I won’t be released from this torment. I know that I probably sound very dramatic right now, and you’re probably right. I just have no idea what to do with myself. So, I smoke my cigarettes, do my job, and just listlessly drift through my existence for today. I managed to eat lunch, despite my appetite not being there, which is another good thing I suppose. I just feel so lost, the comfort that I usually felt with suicidal thoughts is no longer there, and I just don’t know what to feel.
I thought about going to the hospital, checking myself into an inpatient program. Yet, that even feels like it could cause more harm than good. I just don’t know how to ease my suffering, which is something entirely new to me. I figured that about 10 years of being depressed that it could no longer surprise me. Alas, here I am, completely caught off guard, and stuck. So I write this just to pass the time really. I know myself well enough to know that sleep is my best ally, and I hope that when I wake in the morning, at least some of this indescribable feeling will have subsided. For now, I continue my drifting existence, with a small glimmer of hope, wish me luck.