I am in a bad place right now.
I think writing some of this out will help me process, as writing tends to do.
Every rope becomes a noose and every knife because the last knife I’ll ever need.
It’s kind of funny how psychiatrists and psychologists will ask you whether you have a plan of how you would commit suicide… even when you’ve been living with a mood disorder for years.
It’s kind of like…
“Yes, I’ve had 5 years to develop plans. It’s impossible for me to say ‘no, I don’t have a plan of action for committing suicide” when I’ve been suicidal from time to time.
Every anxiety is hitting me, and I’m absorbing anxiety of others.
Sometimes there seems no way out but death.
But it doesn’t really qualify as a “way out” in that it won’t have any ability to change the situation. If there is no afterlife than death is extinction. So it’s not so much “I’d be happier dead” as “There’s nothing in this world for me, therefore I should commit myself to the grave.” Or rather commit myself to be in the grave.
Writing helps me process.