Until extremely recently I had suicidal thoughts without any intention of ever going through with them. I didn't even think I was capable of it. That's where my username comes from—no longer desiring life, but still intending to live it. (Another way I interpret the CS Lewis quote from my signature.) But as of last Sunday I think I'm probably actually suicidal. I don't know. I don't know. I know that I failed in my responsibilities and the things that I have been brought up and equipped to do. Things I should have been able to do. I couldn't do them. I failed. All this year I've scrambled and fought to make it through, but now, now I have at long last simply failed. There is no salvaging this. My best friend is trying to help me in every way he can. Is telling me to come clean to my parents. Neither of us think they will respond well. Our hope is that after they worsen my situation, my reaction will be strong enough to convince them that I need genuine help. We have no idea how severe they will get with me before that happens, or if that will ever happen at all. I drew blood on myself for the first time just now. It wasn't very much. It was an extremely small cut, and not at all deep. But. I don't know. I feel like some part of me is already dead and the rest of me is dying. Assuming I make it out of this, will I even still be me? Will depression have changed me so much that I'm no longer even really the same person? I am terrified. Possibly more of life than of death.