I feel so alone. I feel like everything is my fault, that I wasn’t strong enough to resolve the suffering in my life. I’m so disappointed in myself and I just want to start over. I like to think that in my final resting place I’m reborn again, I get to start over, and I get to be better. I could have never predicted I could let myself down so severely. I’m so embarrassed to think that things could've turned out so differently and it was all my fault. 

Shame and guilt have consumed my life for the past two years and I keep thinking that I let myself go because of my diagnosis. I feel like I should have done something for myself, but it was so hard when all I wanted to do was escape. I can’t help but feel that I faked it all, that I brought this on myself. I also know the agony I experienced at times when my emotional state was on a pendulum. I was exhausted, burned out, I couldn’t focus, I couldn’t explain myself. But it got better, I was so optimistic and secure. Then I slipped and fucked everything up, I believe I faked the extremity of my mental state to escape the anxiety and distance myself from my disappointment. I thought I could catch up eventually in the time I spent alone and away. But I didn’t, and I underestimated the toll this illness would take on my cognitive ability, physical state, and overall basic functioning. 

Then I got better again, and I thought those moments would last forever, that they were sacred, and again I ended up doing nothing with myself. Now I’ve indebted myself and I don’t feel like doing anything at this point, I don’t even want to get better. There are so many things I wish I did differently, but there's no point lingering on the past. Yet, I can't forgive myself. I suppose that’s self-sabotage because that’s what I did to get me to this point in the first place. I don't even think I'm really here. I feel like I was behind from the very beginning and it’s just too late now. I can’t take it anymore.