So what's next? I can't go back to the counselor. He's made that clear. Or correction, my interpretation of what he said makes me believe he was very clear about not coming back. If I went back, and still struggle with talking, I'm afraid that he would kick me out for good. And I can't talk there anyways. Not about what I want to. Not about what I need to. And honestly, I'm not looking for someone to try to change my mind anyways. I'm not really sure what I'm looking for even. Maybe someone to accept me even though I'm not strong enough to do something that most other people take for granted. Maybe someone to know so I don't feel alone. Maybe acceptance - and maybe I don't deserve all those things.
I've struggled with these thoughts for too long. And you know, everyone figures since I have struggled with them for so long and haven't done anything yet, it means automatically I won't. That's where I'm at. No one believes how violent the struggle inside me is. How much strength and energy I have to put in just getting through every day alive. Or maybe no one cares. If I would have to hazard a guess, I'm betting no one cares. If I died today, how many would care that I wouldn't be here tomorrow. Actually, the correct question is who would notice. I go for days, weeks, months on end with no one checking on me. No one would really know that I was gone until they would have forgotten who I am. And maybe that makes things easier. No one to be upset. I don't even have to have a funeral. I don't want anyone to remember the failure I've become. I die as I have lived. Alone. I guess I should be happy with that.
I realized the other day my depressed self is 21 years old. My depressed self is old enough to drink now. Isn't that weird that I keep up with that? 21 years is too long. And I'm kind of too the point where I don't know what to do about that. Or rather, am afraid of what to do about that. 159 days... just have to make it until then.
