I hate admitting this, it’s unspeakable, and writing it down makes it even more real. I’ve been thinking about killing myself a lot. If I didn’t know the horrific trauma that death causes on the people who love the dead person, I think I’d have done it already.
Every day I struggle to get up and go to class. I find no meaning in anything I do and I go to a counselor here on campus, but I still feel the same.
Why is Depression so heavy? Hanging around in the pit of my stomach, a pulsating orb, a cancer re-emerging after remission. The sorrow is physically manifested in my gut. I feel a deep discontent. A piece missing or shifted into the wrong position. A heavy weight, crushing. Like soaking wet wool fabric, clinging to my…
No matter how ready this anxiety is trying to make me, there is no way to prepare for doom. Living in fear is a kind of hell.
I’m not incredibly sad all the time. I don’t feel much of anything most of the time. I’m not just sadder than I used to be, I’m less everything.
Up and down emotions. One moment I feel excited and ready to try something new, and the next I am afraid of rejection and hide back in my bed.
Where is the inspiration I used to have? It feels weird to be an adult and sometimes feel like the same sad little kid I once was.
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112 & 999
112, 999, 110
112, 911, 999, 111, & 000
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