I just wanna die... Its my deepest desire. But I can't. I've tried it several times without success. And, I'm too much of an empath to put the people who know me through that. I can see a type of Hell, catered to me should I go through with it, in which I forever mourn the pain I've put those close to me through. Its an awful thought. I'm mostly alone these days. I'm afraid to get close to anyone, because I believe if they got to know who I am, they would run away like everyone else did. I literally have no friends. I scared them all away with my drama in the past. I talked to a guy I've known for just over 10 years a couple nights ago, he said we were brothers for life, and he would never abandon me, but I just don't believe it, seeing as how, since I came back from another world (a year long schizophrenia episode, more on that later), we've hung out maybe 3 times in 5 years. I get that he's busy with work and a failing marriage, but shouldn't there be just a few minutes every month or so we could spend time together? As far as family, I've grown distant to them. Don't get me wrong, if the many episodes of extreme psychosis have proved anything to me, its that I love them from the bottom of my weeping heart. I even believe in God at this point, after the things I've been through. I don't even bother burning myself anymore (haven't in 8 months, thought about it tonight, but it just seemed a pointless effort). You see, when I was 18, in a different city far from home for college, it was October 2008 I think. I remember lying in bed, stoned out of my mind, when I heard a voice in my head. It didn't seem to be my voice. It didn't have my mannerisms, my way of speaking. I thought it was God at first... Maybe it was, maybe it wasn't. But I decided it seemed like my roommates voice, urging me to stop smoking weed, that it was ruining me. Within minutes, there were more voices... Voices of people I knew of, people I'd seen. They talked to me, not in the typical schizo, "kill yourself" way. They seemed concerned. To me it was the other people living in the dorm, together, discussing the thoughts and images in my head. It scared me. From then on, I didn't say much else. To most, not a yes or no. To the few that heard me, nothing of substance. It was 8th grade all over again. I wanted to talk. Dear God, I wanted to talk so bad. But for some reason, I couldn't. I guess, the way I see it today, what was the point in saying anything if everyone already knew? They tried to get me to talk. The majority of the other students. Giving me every opportunity they could to let me speak, (one young lady even went as far as sleeping with me in an effort to get me to say something, I didn't say much of anything, she gave up after the weekend). You see, it all seemed so real. I mean, I would ask a question about it in my head.... And someone would answer that specific question, with a specific answer, out loud. With their physical voice. I couldn't deal with it. I dropped out within the first year. I moved home, hoping it would all go away. But it followed me. The first night I was home... Again, the voices... Of my not too distant stepdad, mother, childhood friend... I didn't know what to do. I was a shell at this point. Jumping forward a month or two, I became reacquainted with a good friend I knew in high school. Something about her... Calmed me. With her on my mind, I didn't hear the voices (very rarely anyway). Soon enough, though she made it clear from the get go that she only wanted to be friends, I was in love. My first love. I had never experience the feeling of being "in love" before. It was amazing. For the first time in a very long time, spending time with her... I was happy. Fast forward. January, 2010. Me and her are walking late at night through the neighborhood I grew up in. Being as deeply in love with her as I was, and wanting to solidify said love via sex, though she would not, I began prying into her sex life. She was reluctant, maybe she knew I was head over heels for her. Pressuring her, she told me. And she told me a lot. No shortage of one night stands, plenty of fellows that had nothing to do with emotion... I felt the rip that instant... We parted ways soon after. Within the hour, sitting on my couch, I felt the heartbreak. I was devastated. I knew then, that I wanted to die. The rest of the year, time didn't mean much. I remember at the beginning of march, telling my mother that if things didn't get better by the end of the month, that I would end my life. She was extremely saddened, but I don't think she took me seriously. A pattern of behavior developed. Sleeping for up to 16 hours a day, the rest of the time sitting outside, staring into the void, begging, praying, for death. I didn't eat much, I rarely showered or brushed my teeth. End of march comes. I decide its time. I drive to my oldest friends house, one I've known since we were in diapers. I explained the situation, and that I was going to end my life. He was very sad, but seeming just bid me farewell. I drove to the other friends house, the second oldest friend I had, (the one from above, with the failing marriage). I told him what was up, he immediately burst into uncontrollable sobbing, begging me not to do it, that he couldn't lose his best friend. I said I'm sorry, rather emotionless, and went home. This friend, took initiative. He contacted my parents, and explained the direness of the situation. I ended up in a psychiatric hospital, where they diagnosed me with Major Depressive Disorder, and "red flagged" for Schizophrenia. I don't remember much else that year, save for another hospital visit that summer. By October 2010, I was a zombie again. One day, I felt nothing. The only thought that I ever thought that day was death. So, I went to my room, closed the door, and took the 50-100 or so grams (yes grams) of pills I had been prescribed. I lied in bed, and............... The very next moment, seemingly the instant I had lied down, I was in a hospital ER room with my parents with me. Third hospital visit in a year. An outpatient psychiatrist diagnosed me with Bipolar disorder type 2. The following years are a blur of drugs, alcohol, self mutilation, and bad company.

May, 2015. I had been trying to get sober, at the advice of a therapist I had approached with suicidality. AA program, yada yada. Met a young lady, found in her someone that gets me, fell in love, her as well, (or so she claimed). I won't get into this one, because it was extremely inappropriate. Long story short, she cheated on me. It wasn't all that much of a surprise, kinda understanding her hypersexuality. It made me more angry than anything... (Forgot to mention, since I was a wee lad, up until puberty, I had severe anger issues, essentially rage, except I just bottled it up). I guilt trip her into basically​ letting me know everything she was doing at all times. A month later, she says she doesn't think we can be together, she said she loved me, but I just couldn't be there for her in a way she needed, (physically). This broke my heart. The one person who seemingly understood me, didn't want to be with me anymore. I ran from the halfway house I was staying at, straight to the liquor store. Bought a fifth of cheap vodka, gathered up the 10-20 grams of prescription pills I had, and sat outside, late at night, of one of the AA houses I frequented. I made the mistake of texting my brother with my intent, (who I'm told went searching all over for me, eventually telling the parents). I had already been through most of the fifth, and I cried hysterically as I downed the pills with more vodka. It hit me fast. It was cold outside. And it was only September in the south. Pretty much immobilized at this point, lying on the freezing cement, I threw up most of the pills, (seriously, don't puke medicine if you don't have to, I've never tasted anything so bitter. All I tasted for a week after was bitterness.) After the vomit had subsided, shivering from the cold cement as I was, I made an effort to stand up and walk home, figuring I had failed my attempt. I misjudged the effect of the meds combined with alcohol. I made it maybe 20 feet of stumbling, where I gave up and decided to sleep in the grass.......... I woke up many hours later surrounded by police, (apparently my mother called the police, who then pinged my phone to find my location.) I couldn't speak more than slurred jibberish for probably 24 hours, even after I had spent the night in the ER. This was as much as my parents could stand, so after a few months in a psychiatric hospital, they sent me to a long term treatment facility for co-occuring disorders. It was there that the therapist I was assigned, after seeing him twice a week for three months, I was diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder. Later on he even talked with me about the possibility of me having Depressive Personality Disorder, (not very well known as I can see, imaging someone with MDD, who feels fine at first, has an episode of severe depression, and eventually becomes fine again, in a pattern or so... DPD, you are depressed first, have an episode of severe depression, and you are depressed after. Basically you are always sort of a downer.) Any who... 10 months later, I return home. I have a job immediately, a car, a place of my own... Though I am drinking fairly regularly, (maybe 200 ounces of beer a week) and smoking pot a few times a week, things are going well. Fast forward to this month, (it should be known that upon moving home, I don't have any friends outside of the internet.) I wreck my car. Its totaled. The bus would take me 2.5 hours to get to work, so I had to quit. That job just wasn't feasible. I start to spiral. I drink every day now, sometime all day and night, staying up for days on end, drinking, (At this point I can't even get drunk anymore, much as I try), I don't do pot, because most employers in my state drug test even for entry level jobs. I've come very close to suicide a few times, this month, have had multiple, horrifying events of psychosis, and for the most part, I just don't like anyone, especially myself. I'm afraid that if I attempted human connection, someone would start to see who I am, how complicatedly messed up I am, and they would run away like everyone else did. Half of the time I am fairly confident I want nothing to do with humanity. The other half, I am painfully lonely. I'm not even sure why I am writing this to be honest. Its not like I'd ever get the chance to talk to any of you. You're all just.... Data. Ghosts of a virtual world. I dunno. I felt pretty suicidal before writing this. But I feel somewhat better now. Pretty empty, pretty sad, but at least I might be able to sleep. Speaking of, I've been awake for far too long. I'm going to bed.