The thought of death soothes, and gives solace. I have no reason to live, but plenty of reasons to die. I'm not terrified of leaving my kids - it's more terrifying that they would have to live with me when I'm struggling every day. The state of sadness and indifference is unbearable as if crushing, squeezing from the inside, as Monika said in the hospital.
It's weird, you don't feel anything, but it hurts. Crazy thoughts come to my mind to write to my husband and beg him to come back to us, to be with us - I function better when he is in the same room with me. But part of me reminds me that I've asked for it many times before, always to no avail. Another such request, he will fail like any other, he will not sense that this is the last request before my death.
Death... Will God forgive me? Are the thoughts of death the result of my mental illness, or… well, I don't know what, the result of my being fucked up? Why don't I have the will to fight? Why is there only indifference, why can't I love my children and fight for them? Why am I blocking myself from thinking about what they're going to experience next? Maybe my parents will be relieved, they won't have to worry, we won't have to argue about upbringing - they will raise them themselves. It doesn't really bother me anymore... What's happening to me?
Help, help! No rescue. What should I tell you how I feel? That I dream that I don't exist? Lord God, please let me die as soon as possible before I do it for you. There is no hope - I've been fighting for a ray of sunshine for so long, for a clear direction - and still every cell in me howls in sadness behind my husband's arms, because only there I felt safe, soothed. What bullshit. But unfortunately, it's true. God, let me die. Here I am so sad and so hopeless for a better tomorrow. Give me the strength to live another night and day. Or let me die.