This is a Really Real Mental Health Post.

Trigger Warning:  Suicidal Stuff.

Normally it gets this bad and all I can do is cry.

Those soul cleansing tears that sometimes wash away the pain and sometimes draw me under, drowning.

But all I can do is cry.

And this time I can’t.

The tears won’t come.

And I think in a way that’s worse.

It feels like I’m faking it.  Like I’m making up the thoughts in my own head because there aren’t tears with them.  It’s just matter of fact, it just is.

Today I want to die because I am tired of always fighting the will to die, and here are the ways I could do it, and here are the reasons those ways wouldn’t work, and here are the ways I could work around those problems, and here are the other ways I could die.

Very black and white.

No tears, no real sadness about the ideas and the plan.  No real sadness at all.

Just, fact.

Death is an option.

Except when I peek my head up for air I don’t want death to be an option.

Right now, I’m in that in between state.  I wish death were an easier option.

I wish I didn’t care about Wonder Woman finding me, I wish I didn’t care about the years of grief that would follow.  I wish I didn’t care about Kidlet losing a second mom and what that would do to his future.  I wish I didn’t care about the friends I’d leave behind and they grief they’d feel.

I wish it were easier to access a simple, painless, fool proof method of death.

I wish I could just flip a switch and be gone without a care.

But I also know I do care about all of those things.  And because of that I’ll sit here and fight with these fucking thoughts.  I’ll live in this hell that my brain puts me through.  I’ll be torn up from the inside as my brain tries to kill me and I fight to stay alive.  And even more, as I fight to keep doing the things I’m supposed to be doing each day while ignoring the fact that my brain just wants me to lay down and give up.

It’s not fair.

And I don’t want to HEAR that life isn’t fair.  Because honestly, this is fucking bullshit.  I didn’t do a fucking thing to deserve to have these thoughts ripping me apart.  I’m doing all of the right things, I’m going to therapy, I’m taking my meds, I’m learning the skills, I’m Doing. All. Of. The. Hard. Work.

And still.

My brain is trying to kill me.

It’s trying to take me out.

And honestly, it would be easier to let it win.