Lonesome

I know of loneliness.

I know about feeling so absolutely alone in the world that I actually feel hollow, like there is nothing inside, like I can feel my sorrow rattling around in an empty shell inside me. 

I'm so lonely I want to die. 

Every day. All day, I want to die. 

I can't make this stop. 

Even after all this time, it hasn't gotten easier. I've been alone so long, I should be used to it by now, but as I grow older, it's all at once harder and easier. 

I've also caused this. I have made it difficult for people to like me and isolated myself. I've spent so much time by myself, refusing offers of friendship and company that I don't quite know how to spend time with people. I actually don't even know very many people.

I'm currently going through one of my bouts of insomnia and every time I try to fall asleep, I'm startled awake by panic about being alone and running out of time. I'm 30. I've spent 3 decades on earth without really gathering up any people that could ease my loneliness. 

Unhelpfully, I am also deeply, painfully, unceasingly depressed.

A friend of mine recently told me in jest that I shouldn't leave her a suicide note. I said I wouldn't but in a split second, the joke had turned serious because both she and I could tell that I wasn't really joking and that the possibility of me killing myself isn't an outlier.

I'd really, really, really like to die but I don't know that I'm brave enough to try again after all these years. So instead I'm stuck in this odd, unhappy limbo of a life that is seemingly a content and fulfilled one for anyone on the outside looking in. Meanwhile I spend my time thinking about practical ways to acquire a car in order to knock off by using carbon monoxide. 

This is all very, very wrong.

It's So High, I Can't Get Over It

It's been more than a year since I wrote my last post.

In all this time, I haven't been able to get past it.

I'm still so very, very depressed.

I think I need help. But I have no one to ask. I have no way of asking.

All day, every day, all I think about is ending this. All this.

I go to work, go on holiday, go out to dinner, meet friends, pay bills, watch movies.

I do all the things that normal people do. But I can't enjoy them.

I am so anxious, I can't sleep.

I have migraines.

I can't cry. (I never could)

I just want this to be over. I am so desperate for this to be over.

I don't care which 'this' ends first, the depression or the life. One of it needs to end.

Nothing I do is making this go away.

I have nobody left that I love, that also loves me, that I actually like and that actually likes me. Not one person in the world checks off all four boxes.

Maybe I should take the step. End things. It's never as viable as it is now. In all the years I've thought about killing myself, it's never been as viable an option as it is now. It's been a year and a half. I just want it to be over.