so today has been worse than most days. I hate trying to figure out why. it’s my hormones or a conversation I had or the weather or something I ate, god only knows. it’s a thousand little things ever day and day by day it’s just a matter of something breaking the camel’s back. but it’s more like quicksand. I’ve spent the day trying to keep from getting sucked into the morass of despair that’s always looming, and it feels like I’ve barely managed to stay alive. certainly there’s been some very alarming imagery in my mind about ending it all. it’s difficult to talk about. if you come straight out and say it you sound melodramatic, but if you hedge around it, it loses a lot of the sense of just how awful it is. everyone feels the drudgery of existence sometimes and struggles to find the energy to go on. but to have genuine suicidal thoughts about actively ending your life, well, that’s a different beast. there’s a great deal of horror at yourself, and shame, but at the same time it feels inevitable, like it’s the only possible conclusion. the depression, the hopelessness, it feels so inescapable, because it’s always there no matter how many good days you have. and when it’s bad, it’s fucking awful and climbing out of that pit isn’t just a matter of picking yourself up and making the effort. it’s like beating and clawing and scratching against a smooth impenetrable wall that has defeated you a million times over until there’s a tiny crack in the surface. then you do it all again until there’s another crack, until you have handholds to pull yourself out. “out’ is merely returning to a somewhat normal state where you don’t feel completely despairing.

I get asked if I’m feeling better. I want to reply, “well I don’t want to actively kill myself today, so I guess? but it’s still early, who knows what the day holds.” 

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