I live life as if assuming I won’t live to have a long life, and I can’t remember the last time I didn’t think this way.

Every night I go to bed just slightly disappointed (some nights more than others), that I don’t have a fatal disease, and I wonder (and hope) my expiration date is nearer than I could imagine.

But my fear is that I’ll end up living a long life, because that would be just my luck.

Some people just weren’t made to live in this world long, and I really feel like I’m one of them. Or I hope that I am.

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hellooooo.

It’s hard to believe that people care enough about me when I feel like I could fall off the face of the earth and it would take at least a few days for anyone besides like, my mom, to realize I’m not around.

Also, when you’re unemployed, it feels like you’re on the outside looking in on everyone else functioning normally and dealing with their jobs even if they hate them. But I did that for a long time. I had to do what I did. But sometimes it still feels like I failed. Like I should have continued being miserable for even longer. Except when you’re beyond miserable, it’s a lot harder to pretend you give a shit about anything at all.

Choosing to think of the kind authentic words that have been said to me recently from unlikely people. And if they could come up with the nice things they said, surely I must not be so bad and forgettable, right?

I realize when I think about my life in the future, that I don’t even think about anything past 60 (which may be normal). I don’t want to live to an old age. Especially with chronic health problems. And the way my brain functions (or doesn’t function).

Life will always be a struggle with me. Regardless of how many stressors are or are not in my life, no matter how ‘good’ things may go, it all feels like a mountain to climb, to appear like a functional adult like most other people. But even when I’m happy and having a ton of fun, there’s still this underlying depression, disillusionment and general apathy under the metaphorical carpet that is my life. It’s like the smell of cat pee which is so hard to get rid of even after you clean (multiple times). And then it feels like it’s a part of your identity.

And I wonder if people generally go to bed and wake up in the morning ready for whatever comes. I wake up after not enough sleep, and feel slightly disappointed that I did. It takes so much effort to get out of bed and shower, and then get out of my shower and put myself together.

When will I have a spring in my step? When will I feel super excited about whatever may come? Will I ever want to date someone again and let them into my life and soul and thoughts? Will I ever be able to accept compliments when I get them? Will I ever feel like I’m more than an inconvenience and pity friend and convince myself that people who care about me won’t be disappointed in me and bounce as soon as I do something wrong?

There’s so many little stressful and unfortunate things happening and they’ve begun to pile up together and I’ve emotionally shut down. My coping mechanism of becoming numb is to the brink. I’m in hibernation mode when it comes to feelings. I smile and say the right things outwardly and get my work done, and function as a person generally should, but on the inside, I’m just like “what-the-fuck-ever I don’t fucking care, someone give me a damn lobotomy”. I’m really stressed and it’s wreaking havoc on me, mentally and physically. And then when I stop to acknowledge how stressed and anxious I am, I start to get into panic mode and I start to feel like I may not be able to breathe.

2017 (and most of 2016) has just been such a thick sludge of shit. Honestly the only truly fun amazing and soul-energizing moment from this year has been my escape to New York.

Overwhelmed. I am overwhelmed in so many ways about so many things.

Trying to figure out how it’s possible that I am able to feel totally alive in some moments and totally detached in other moments, and sometimes even neurotically feel both within the same breath. Defensively embracing life?

on the suicidally depressed…

“We are dying. Yet, unlike a cancer patient who is gently encouraged to let go when his battle is lost and his pain unbearable, we are told to hold on. And when we no longer can, we are hated, laughed at, looked down upon. The cancer patient who dies becomes a hero. We become an embarrassment. A shameful thing to be hidden away.”  –Carrie Lange

Food for thought. Don’t hide away the people you’ve lost to suicide. They too were suffering, from cancer of the mind.

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