I'd left here, PC, for a while, but I still need help, though I probably don't deserve it. Scratch that, I DON'T DESERVE HELP. This is my last attempt to reach out before I close up my thoughts and pain, and keep everything to myself, and keep all my aggression, anger, depression for me.
Tried to go it alone, without help, came to one conclusion. Tried telling my therapist, and prescriber, and a "friend." Lost the friend. Not one person thought I was to be believed, though pdoc increased dosage, so maybe that one did understand. Other than my usual trip to my parents' to help out, I've barely spoken to anyone in days. When I try, I look at how they are happy and enjoying life and I decide I shouldn't speak, because I'm only going to ruin things. I exist, and that's it. It seems I wait for death, because I'm not able to rush it on. My one conclusion, my mantra, "I can't die from suicide, I'm meant to suffer."
I self-loathe in ways that I cannot describe any more pleasantly than slowly rotting meat.
I have the ways and means to an end, but I'm certain to fail. All prior attempts tell me that. My purpose in life; I'm meant to suffer.