I feel like dying. I don't see the point in this. I can barely afford to keep my feet on the ground and it's not getting better. I have fucked up a lot and I regret a lot and I've lost a lot because of the times I have been manic, defiant, and paranoid. I am constantly oscillating between hopeful and hopeless and I fail to be the person I want to be because of this. I have lost a lot because of this. I am angry at myself because of this. Thoughts of suicide are rife at present and the only thing holding me back is the knowing that it would hurt the person I love the most. My mental health hinders me and over these past few months it has hindered me the most. That's not an excuse, it's the brutal reality of the way my life has planned out thus far. It's never been this bad and this debilitating and no matter what I always end up falling. Same routine, same pattern. It doesn't matter what I do nor try, I am in a constant state of failure and I hate myself for it because I don't want to be this way. I try with all my might to not be this way but it seems uncontrollable. As I get older it becomes more of an issue, more debilitating, more destructive. Would you want to live if you were unaware of reality at times? Would you want to live if you felt emotions stronger than anything you've ever felt before? That's all emotions. Experiencing life in extremes is terrifying and unsustainable and it sickens me that I can't get a hold of it. I want to, I want to suffocate this and bury it and plod along like the rest of them. I want to go to work and enjoy life without my mind screaming, pounding, go, go, go. I'd much rather die than live in this shell. I do not function like the others, I do not think like the others. But underneath, I want to. It seems so simple for them. At least I wouldn't be letting myself and those around me down. I am destructive, subconsciously so. I am not a nice person at times, subconsciously so. But then subconsciousness develops into consciousness and I am then hyper-aware of my shortfalls and mistakes, and then regret and shame and anger creep in. This thing is invisible and it is silent to outsiders, but it is killing me.