After recent events, I've come to realize I use 'Hey guys, I'm still alive' as a common opener to my announcements.
Is this a problem in any sort of way? Well, probably yes.
I really don't know what's wrong with me. I have depression and suicidal tendencies, but I can't seem to find the reason behind them. I see when and how they started, but no reason to why the events that happened caused the downfall of my mental health, an effect with no cause.
It's kinda annoying. I expect myself, and others expect, that there's an underlying reason to why I impulsively try to take my own life sometimes.
Is it something that can be worked through? Honestly through all my trials it seems like no, there's no definitive answer to why I'm like this. It's just a thing I do and I have to deal with it for the rest of my existence.
Is it something that I can live with. Through all my therapy and self-reflection, yes. Depression and impulsive suicidal tendencies is a thing I can live through. It's going to be difficult as hell, and there's going to be a lot of times where I truly consider ending it, but I can make it through.
Is it ever going to end? I really don't think so, as a few past sentences have hinted at. It's an impulse engraved so deeply in my brain that I can't get rid of it without getting rid of my brain as a whole, a parasite that's dug too deep within its host and now is basically another organ to the body.
Is it tiring? Yes. Hell frickin yes. It's almost like waking up with a twenty percent chance that your life will suddenly come to a neck breaking halt and seem to drag on to years and years from just a single day's time. It's a gamble as to whether life is worth living or not.
Is it ever going to overtake me again. Hopefully not. I've learned so much recently, and have been to hell and back (aka residential treatment, look it up, it's an awful terrible place to be.), so I'm more than convinced that I'll never attempt again, the mere threat of going back to that hell is more than enough convincing for me.
Is it? Is it. Is it is it is it. So many questions that I still can't give a definitive answer to. I half-assed half of these in a single moment knowing full well if that dice roll lands on snake eyes I'll be forgetting everything I wrote here today in favor of death spiraling until I force myself back to square one.
I'm a broken mess is what I've been trying to say. Therapy is a bandaid on the cut off limb that is my depression.
