I don’t want to be alive anymore. I can’t deal with any part of my life. Everything just gets harder and feels worse and I’m so paralyzed I can’t do anything about any of it. I wish I were dead. I can’t fucking be alive I can’t fucking take this

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I used to be so much better at dealing with my bad thoughts, at channeling them into something. I used to know how to help myself. How to drag myself up out of the darkness.

Why’d it all have to change?

The worst part is people who say “You don’t seem bipolar” and don’t realize how that hurts. Which it shouldn’t, but it does somehow. I suppose it hurts because I know myself and what I’m going through and how dare they suggest that I don’t?

I’m sorry I’m not the kind of bipolar you’ve seen in movies. I’m sorry I don’t tell you how down I am 99% of the time and then when I’m up the other 1%. You aren’t me, you don’t know what I’m experiencing because I have difficulty putting it into words.

I had the depression thing pretty well figured out after seven years. It had become familiar to me, almost like an old friend. I knew how to deal with it most days, was able to pull myself out of my circling thoughts a lot of the time. But this, this is brand new and terrifying. Nothing is working and now I get to try however many new meds it takes before something works and maybe then I’ll feel some semblance of normal again.

But for now I’m stuck in a loop of how much I hate myself and how worthless I am and now, with this new thing, nobody seems to be able to help or make me feel better. That is the scariest part. My mom has always been able to comfort me in my worst moments but even she can’t make this go away.

Suicide and committing myself are on my mind daily. Little things feel big and monstrous and make me want to cry. I feel like most people don’t really like me and talk behind my back. Then there’s the irritation. Little things that piss me off and make me want to yell at my coworkers or quit my job.

I’m just so hopeless. More than I’ve ever been. I have zero motivation to do anything but sleep and even that is hard because of my fucked up dreams.

Most days, I just don’t want to be alive anymore.

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Do you ever feel like you’re just the worst,

The absolute worst, and nobody’s first,

Their choice, the one to choose

When it all falls down,

The one they can’t lose?

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I’ve got Big Thoughts

And too weak a mind

To hold them.

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Philando Castile.

Another name to add to the list, a list comprised of names of people who I should know nothing of.

They were normal,

Guilty of daring to live in a white man’s world.

Nothing more.

I am so sickeningly accustomed to this now. I see how it will play out. Anger, a demand for action, no charges filed.

And then it will happen again. 

As long as bigots are allowed to don a uniform and have authority, this will always happen.

There will always be another Alton Sterling. Another Eric Garner. Another Michael Brown.

We must not abide this. Or their blood is on our hands as well.

We must not abide.

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I feel like you led me on. But I don’t think you did.

I feel sick to my stomach. But I still don’t blame you.

I wish I could just be angry. But all I can feel is pain and loneliness and missing you so strongly it’s like dying from the inside out.

We still talk. But it’s not the same. Because what we had, what we should have, lingers behind every word.

We never had a chance.

We never stood a chance.

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“I’m your father, I’m not going to hurt you anymore.”

So you quit meth and completely changed your entire personality?

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