One Bad Day

Actually it has been several bad days. Two days ago I attempted to commit suicide. This hasn’t been the first time. I honestly can’t say it will be the last. Last time I tried I said never again, this is the last time. I see how far that got me. 

I’ve been disagnosed with PTSD, anxiety, depression and a few other things. I’ve been in therapy for over half my life. And no matter what I do, I can’t get rid of the feeling that I am broke. 

It’s odd. I have good days. Quite a few really. But when the bad days show up, they are extremely bad. Last night I found myself curled up in a ball, back pressed in a corner crying. I was shaking bad enough my Fit Bit registered it as steps, and my jaws hurt from how hard i clenched them. 

The night before that is when I tried. Most of the time I feel useless. I feel unwanted. I look into the mirror and I hate who looks back. I find myself fat and ugly both inside and out. I wonder who could ever love a person like me. Add onto that all the baggage I carry, and the additional difficulties of being with a person who has PTSD, I think that the situation is hopeless. 

I have two failed marriages. That makes me feel real good about myself too. 

All of the above hit me at once and I couldn’t take it. I felt the only way out of the pain was to not be alive. I know it’s the wrong way to think. In the moment when drowning, alone, I  panicked . It was like screaming into the dark for help, but only hearing your echos answer. 

So two days removed I’m sitting here, with my mind on overdrive. Self doubts, self questioning, and a hundred other things going through my head. And all I want is quiet. 

What I wouldn’t give for one night of quiet 

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