I've been struggling with depression for years. Anyone who knows me knows that much. I've also been struggling with a past that haunts my every thought and consistently eats away at my mind. And worst, of late I've been struggling with mental health issues that have become so extreme that it's excruciatingly painful to be conscious.
Sometimes it's a labour to get out of bed every morning. Sometimes it's a labour to breathe. Anymore, it's always a labour to stay alive.
It's gotten to the point that I can't see a reason to stay alive anymore; in a way far worse than I've ever felt before. Worse because this time I really don't have a reason to stay. Any hope I have of being with the man I love most is crushed; any hope I have of a day without the constant screaming and crying that plague my every waking hour is lost; any hope I have that perhaps there's something to redeem the world I live in it gone with the wind.
I don't see a future anymore. And I'm not sure I even want one. I don't want anything, anymore, except perhaps for the two things I know I'll never have again.
Every day I think about how easy it would be to end all of this pain. It's an attractive thought, now, and I know that I can do it. And sometimes it's all I want to do.
Nobody wants me around anymore. I don't want to be around anymore. There's nothing left to hold me back; nothing left to live for. I guess that's the trouble with realizing that there's no purpose but the ones we give ourselves- when everything you build comes crashing to the ground, you realize just how silly it all was.
Love is inevitably to be lost, and having had it means nothing once it's gone.
Peace and quiet... well, I don't know that most people ever appreciate just how much it means to be able to be alone. Once that's gone... Nothing can bring it back.
I'll have to die one day, and on that day, everything I'll have ever done will be moot. I'll be gone, and all the happiness, all the pain, all the love will have been pointless.
So why should I subject myself to it?
How sad that all the things that once convinced me that life was precious are now the things that convince me that it's just not worth it anymore.
I don't know why I'm putting this here. It's not like any of you actually know me; it's not like any of you actually care. The ones who do know me might not believe me; I've lied about this sort of thing before. In the end, even this note is purposeless. Just the after-image of a will-o'-the-wisp.