Getting through the day is hard. Really hard. Like, constant battle not to take your own life hard.
It seems like everyday I wake up with the same thought, “I hate myself. I should just kill myself and die”. I hate myself even more for thinking like that. I’ve been trained to tell somebody how I’m feeling at moments like this, so I let my wife know.
But that just brings more self hatred. I hate myself for being a distraction when she’s at work. She shouldn’t have to deal with this all the time.
So my despair deepens. I should just do it. Get it over with. I’m fed up with feeling this way.
The same thing stops me as it always does. She would be the one to find me. I don’t want her to have to experience that. It’s not fair to heap that misery on her. To increase her burden.
So I drift through the day instead. Unable to concentrate. Unable to complete the simplest of tasks. My head spins. There’s a thunderstorm inside.
I realise I’d be dead if it wasn’t for the missus. If it wasn’t for the pain I know it would cause her, I’d have finished it a long time ago.
How do the people who have nobody to care for them, cope? I guess they don’t.
I do have someone to care for me. I’m not sure if that makes me or less fortunate. Maybe it just prolongs my suffering? Either way, I couldn’t do that to her. I’ve put her through enough.
Maybe there is hope. Maybe I’m not completely worthless. There’s still some shred of me that tries to put her first.
Until tomorrow. When I wake up and I think, “I hate myself. I should just kill myself and die”.