When it happens again - when those thoughts rise up, and the desire to open my window, climb up to the top of the roof and throw myself off comes back - I know I won't be able to resist the urge to end it. My dog and the thought of what my death would do to my parents aren't going to be enough to prevent me the next time. Whoever says "it gets better" is a lying sack of shit - in 28, nearly 29 years, things have only gotten worse.


I want to be happy, to have friends, to find love, but I'd have to spend fucking years going through therapy and medication just to be able to reach a point where I'm mentally stable enough to find those things, and that is not acceptable to me. I cannot and will not wait that long. I don't want my life to start at fucking 40 or 60, I wanted it to start over a decade ago, and I am not living through another decade or two of this shit.