I really just kind of feel empty, I should be feeling happy or positive in some way, but I just always feel numb, the only strong emotions I feel are sadness and anger. I can’t get out of bed most days. I keep food in my room and only get up if I need to use the restroom. I struggle with showering, brushing my teeth, changing my clothes, that sort of thing. Basic things every person does at least once a day, right? Sometimes it takes me weeks to get up and brush my hair or change my clothes, and it’s not because I just simply don’t want to, it’s because it doesn’t feel like an absolute necessity, I really do want to get up and go shower, or go for walks, or exercise, but it just doesn’t seem important enough. Nothing seems important anymore.
I’ve ruined my life by self-harming, and every single day I regret it. I’ve ruined everything for myself. I wasn’t able to get out of bed to do schooling. I don’t have the education I need to have a future, and I don’t feel like I need to go back to school, even though my life depends on it. I’ve decided that I probably won’t ever be truly happy, so nothing really does matter anymore. I guess I think when the time comes that I need to move out, I’ll just jump in front of a train or something and that’ll be my answer to everything. I think suicide really is my answer, and it’s not because I’m sad and I want to die, but because I don’t have any other option for my life. I really wish I could live in an apartment and have a nice life, but for that, I have to put in the effort I don’t have the strength to put in.
I’m a hopeless person, and I’ve come to terms with that. I have fantasies about where I would be happy, like living with my grandma where I grew up, but that’ll never happen. I’m ready for whatever happens in my life. I’ve chosen not to jump in front of that train before my mom dies because I don’t want to hurt her any more than I already have, but once she goes, I’ll probably go too.
I’ve attempted before, and that fucks with me every day, I’m glad it didn’t happen when it did, but it’s bittersweet too because it could’ve still happened, and I would be gone.
For the past 2 years, I’ve been talking to myself every day, I didn’t want to see a therapist and talk about my problems, so I decided to talk to my problems with myself. In the end, it hasn’t really worked that well.
I can’t let go of the place I used to live. I want to go back, and live there again. I’m going back to see some doctors, but other than that, I’ll remain about 6 hours away. I miss it, every single day I miss it. I dream of it, fall asleep thinking about it, and I don’t exactly know why it means so much to me, why I need to go back so badly, but it’s the only place I think I can be happy, and I don’t know what to do about that. Sorry for another long vent/rant, but this is what I need.