I'm not really certain if this is appropriate to post or not, or if this is even the right place to post this, but I didn't know where else to post this.

Over the past probably 3 months I've been experiencing an increasingly deeper depression. No one around me can tell except for maybe my roommate (who can't tell how bad it is) because I don't ever have an appropriate affect. Only emotions that ever come through on my face and body are rage or giddiness. No one can ever tell if I'm experiencing anything else. Not even therapists. So I have to use my words, and I struggle with that.

The depression has started to rip me apart inside. Part of me wants to do things with my future, but the rest of me just doesn't care anymore. The rest of me is done. I've been at the treatment facility I'm at (one of the best in the country for bipolar and borderline) for 10.5 months now, and I have to leave at the end of September because I will be too old to remain on my parents insurance.

3 weeks ago I started becoming obsessed with the idea of suicide again. It's been over a year since my last attempt and that attempt should have killed me (so should have the attempt before that). Both of those attempts had me in cardiac and respiratory arrest and I was in a coma for a week. I should have died. I know how to do it this time. I've started writing my letters to people. And it was strange because an ultimate calm came over me while I was doing it. Like I would finally be out of this hell I've been living my whole life. But I don't want to do it yet. I want to finish out treatment. Just in case something changes. But if nothing does, I have nothing to live for.

This last weekend (labor day weekend) I became excruciatingly depressed and the thoughts came on worse than ever. Images in my head of the event and how I could do it and all that kind of stuff were just slapping me in the face all weekend. Why I didn't do it? I don't know. It's not time yet, I guess. I have to wait until I finish out treatment I guess.

I told my outside therapist and my treatment therapist yesterday. Both were asking me how strong the thoughts were and stuff like that. Both asked me why I hadn't done it yet, what I was waiting for, etc. They're trying to show me that I have so much to live for, that I'm so smart, that I have a boyfriend that adores me, that my family would be wrecked, that they would be sad, that if I can hold on I will recover, etc etc etc. But it just feels like none of it matters. I've been fighting this for so long. I've been going to treatment center after treatment center. Therapist after therapist. And nothing changes. I still feel the same. My thoughts never go away.

At least both of them said that they wouldn't be mad at me. They'd just be sad that my illness got to me.

I just don't know what to do. I guess I'm holding on to see if there's any last shred of hope. Anything that will make me care.