I can feel some kind of weight on my chest. It hurts to breathe, and it just feels like.. I'm suffocating. My arms, my legs, even my fingers hurt.
I don't know why.
I saw Andrea, my therapist, for the first time on the 11th. We talked a lot, and I really like her... I have an appointment on April 1st, and it kind of feels like that's way too long from now. Fuck. I don't know.
I've been starting to get hopeful that this is what I need. Therapy. A support system. And then I get this letter from the insurance company on Friday, saying that I'm only insured for eight more visits.
Fuck this. I'm finally feeling like I'm going to be okay, maybe, hopefully, we'll see. Then they pull this fucking shit on me. We're going to see what we can do, but I fucking blame my mom for having such shitty insurance. I blame my dad for fucking me up this much in the first place. I blame myself for not being able to deal.
I've got this problem, you see. I can't stand being left alone. We talked about this in therapy, and I was told that she thinks it's because I've never had enough support growing up. I think that when I DO get attention from someone, I SUFFOCATE them. I CRAVE attention. I need someone there for me. All of the fucking time. I gotta have it. I need to be able to call someone, day or night. I NEED someone to be able to talk to me when I need it, no matter what.
I think that that's why I can't hold friends. I'm emotionally demanding of people, and I hate that. But... I can't help it.
And there are things that I can't talk to anyone about. I can't talk about my self-injury, I can't talk about my suicidal thoughts, and I certainly can't tell people that I don't feel like I'm getting enough support or attention. It rubs people the wrong way, it annoys people, or whatever.
Earlier, I was lying in bed, crying my eyes out, convincing myself that it wouldn't be such a big deal if I just killed myself. I figured, fuck... it'd just be easier on everyone, wouldn't it?
I don't know. Fuck, I don't know. I just keep trying to convince myself that I'm gonna die some day anyway, might as well just finish myself off now. What have I got to live for? More of this shit?
It just really hurts right now, and knowing that I can't talk about this to anyone fucking sucks.
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Hey, Eruka, just Hope this time.
I feel kind of like an idiot, being the only one to post on here and freak out or whatever, but I really don't care about looking like an idiot because I am an idiot and that's okay.
What's not okay is for you to be so...so...miserable.
I don't know what you need, Eruka, because I don't really know you, which is awful because I feel like maybe you really need someone to know you and you need someone to care and be your friend. And the fact that you don't have that someone is just utter crap, if you ask me.
Really, though. Life is a great, beautiful, fragile thing, and I don't know if you get to live it more than once, so I don't think you should end it before it's over, you know? Killing yourself just...it seems wrong.
I mean even I've thought about that, but I've always told myself it would be foolish, because I have so much life in me, and I don't want to waste it on my petty misery, right?
But I don't think your misery is petty. I mean, it seems like you haven't had the life you need at all. And it's been shitty enough to make you miserable, and I'm really sorry for it.
I think sometimes I just get too tired, is all.
I can't think of what to do for you, Eruka, only tell you that if you need someone to talk to I'm up for it.
Just don't take yourself away from us here on earth, okay?
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