Thirty-nine days ago I got out of the hospital after ins and outs all fall. So, by one measure I’m doing well. I’m making it and not feeling suicidal enough where my safety is at stake to have to go back into the hospital. I appear to be surviving and maybe even thriving.
On the other hand, every moment, every minute, I feel a heavy burden to push through that moment to stay alive and try to be engaged in that activity or conversation. I’m plagued by suicidal thoughts, or at least thoughts of sweet death, every day multiple times, and every evening like clockwork at 7pm and worse 90 minutes after taking my dinner medication.
I’m so tired of all of this. I don’t know how I’ve made it 39 days, and I certainly don’t know how I can go another 39 like this. I don’t know how I can go another day like this. I wake up and don’t look forward to anything except sitting on the couch, even if there are things to do that day. I’m not engaging in the day. And every evening I’m disappointed that the day is over because I have to go through another day and another work out or getting to an activity or going to a social gathering. It literally hurts. I hurt. The pain sears my soul.
This is depression. Suicide is starting to look good again as a solution to depression, but I can’t think of a successful plan that I have access to. I feel at the beginning of a spiral into a dark, suicidal depression. It starts with every moment feeling like a heavy burden and not being able to take care of myself properly (which I’m not). Help.