I spent all day, yesterday, avoiding phone calls and texts and any interaction with humans in general. I never want to leave my house and when I have to go somewhere, I get stressed out and get aggravated with everything and everyone.
I have doctor’s appointments and even medical procedures that I wish I could just cancel so I don’t have to leave the house.
I wasn’t always like this, though. I’ve never been a very social person. I’ve been reserved and quiet for most of my life until my time in the Army. After my deployment to Iraq, I came home a different person. Angry, nervous, paranoid, and very outspoken.
I don’t let anyone get away with saying shit to me. I yell at complete strangers if they do something stupid. I have road rage so bad that I have actually followed someone past my exit or destination just to let them know they pissed me off.
When I do get a friend, they always leave or become distant. I’m not sure if its because of me or if I just choose shitty people to be friends with. Either way, it has taught me that you can’t count on people to be there for you.
I have this recurring daydream of pulling the trigger on the shotgun and how hard it would be for my family to see my face destroyed by the blast. I think about dragging a sharp knife across my throat or my veins and bleeding out quickly so nobody can “save me”.
I take so many medications for everything from Bipolar to Restless Legs Syndrome. I have 20 bottles of pills in my nightstand and all of them cause drowsiness or have deadly side effects if an overdose happens. Imagine if I downed just 2 or 3 bottles of pills. Would I die? I’d want to do it when nobody was home so they wouldn’t see me dying.
The only thing that stops me is the thought of what it would do to my family. My husband would be crushed and I believe my kids would have a hard time coping with it throughout life. My daughter, especially, would probably blame herself because we don’t get along and I think she’s selfish and self-centered.
If I were to kill myself, would it matter what they thought? I’d be dead and I wouldn’t care. I wouldn’t be there to see their reaction or watch them deal with my death. Why should I care what they’d feel? That’s the point of death. You don’t care anymore.
I have been a burden on my family for years now. I’m physically unable to do many things that normal people can do because of my physical disabilities. My family spends every day asking me if they can help or telling me to sit down so they can do the random chore for me. I’m no use to my husband because I’m overweight and feel ugly so I don’t have an interest in sex. I’m always angry about something and I nitpick every tiny thing anyone does. I used to be such a clean freak but now I find it difficult to even get up to dust. Every movement hurts and my mind is breaking down. I spend every extra cent we have on dumb shit because I can’t control my mania.
What is the point of going on if I can’t contribute to my family and home? Wouldn’t it be easier if I wasn’t around so they could go on and be happier without me spending all the money and griping and yelling at everyone? Wouldn’t it be easier for them if they didn’t have to wonder if I will even leave the house to go shopping with them?
I’m at a loss as to what is keeping me from taking my own life. My family keeps me from doing it but they are the reason I want to.