** WARNING!! CONTAINS TRIGGERS!! **
I hang on to the improbable dream that I will (ironically) hang myself.
It’s a dream and a daze that has been captivating me for weeks.
I feel hopeless and I feel useless.
I thought I was getting better.
But the strain of everything is tugging on my sad strings, making them whine and shriek.
I’m not okay.
I thought I was conquering mountains but it seems they where only hills and I’ve been rolling back down them, tumbling hard.
I’ve had suicidal thoughts before but these are different – even these are twisted and manipulated by depression’s cruel humour.
In my mind I imagine it unfolding… I shut myself away in my bedroom, I lock the door and I leave a note attached outside saying:
“Please don’t find me like this. Just call the authorities. It’s over – I’m over. I’m sorry.”
But just as I start to imagine myself dropping from the noose, the rope snaps and I fall pathetically to the ground.
My mind roars at me with great thundering laughter at my pitiful existence.
With hysterics it sniggers and taunts me about how I’m even too fat to commit suicide, about how I’m SUCH A FUCKING JOKE!
… How fucked up is that?
I can’t even have suicidal thoughts without depression’s distorted input.