idek

In my last post I think I mentioned wanting to kill myself, being sad, hating life, whatever. I've always been the kind of person to joke about killing myself (i.e., driving my car into the Salt Lake) because I have a terrible sense of humor and somehow those jokes were able to make me laugh.

I've actually tried killing myself a couple different times. Both were in high school when I couldn't handle the stress of classes and having no friends. Y'know when I'm talking about. Senior year after all of my friends ditched me and I would sit alone in the corner of yearbook class and cry behind my iMac. Neither attempt worked and I know it was because I was too selfish to actually do the job. Even though I hated myself and wanted to die I had thoughts like, "Why should I be the one to die? They're the fucks who are ruining my life. They should be killing themselves." Typical angsty thoughts of a teenager whose favorite band used to be MCR. Anyway. Didn't kill myself.

Fast forward to 2012. I have no idea what I'm doing in school. Honestly, I find it to be a waste of time. I'm drinking a lot. I'm doing drugs. My skin looks like shit. I've gained fifteen pounds. Looking in the mirror becomes unbearable because I literally cannot stand myself. I'm filled with hate. Killing myself is on my mind every day.

If you saw me during the summer I doubt you would've guessed at my mindset. I pretended to be happy. And even when I was sad or not in a good mood, there's no way you could've known that I was trying to think of the best way to die.

Fast forward to the fall. I'm pregnant. I'm heartbroken. I have an STD. Every day on the way to work I consider driving my car into oncoming traffic. The only thing stopping me is the fact that I'm not looking to kill other people.

Last week Emmett, Molly, and I were drinking and talking about life. Rape came up. Terrible thoughts filled my head. As Emmett was leaving the bathroom to go to bed I asked him, "If I'm constantly thinking about killing myself, should I see someone?" and broke into tears. Emmett and I ended up talking for a couple of hours in which time I had an emotional breakdown and cried nonstop. Afterward I texted my mom and told her I probably needed to see a therapist. Her reply: "Why? Are you depressed?" I explained the situation. She got it. "I knew something had to be wrong. Your kids being dicks has never bothered you before."

This probably seems jumbled and dumb and I'm sorry you chose to read it. But I found a bunch of doctors in the SLC area to talk to. I've scheduled appointments. Hopefully I can get my shit together.