No Title

I did promise that I'd be honest. And I do try to keep any promise I make. Alrght, here goes.

I'm feeling suicidal. It's nothing new - I've lived with periodic bouts of dispair and suicidal thoughts for as long as I can remember. Usually it's in the late winter, and I've been through it enough times to know the signs and the pattern.

There's only been three occasions when I've actually tried to kill myself, and even then it was more an act of frustration that self destruction. If I really wanted to die, I think I would have been dead on the first attempt.

I'm very difficult to live with at the moment. Sometimes hypercritical of others and myself, sometimes slumped in a chair with no motive to do anything, sometimes driven by a sense of duty to fulful obligations. And sometimes there are odd hours of motivation when I can become absorbed in some task - like writing this entry.

In the past I've used antidepressants, psychotherapy and sex as treatment. I've used music and study to keep my mind occupied, to keep from drifting into a tearfully resentful state. But it's only intermittantly successful.

To die would be such an easy escape. From all the moral obligations that I can't jettison, from all the pointless pressures and frustrations. But just at the moment I can't do it - call it cowardice or self preservation or will to live or whatever you like.

Each time I rack my brains to find a way out of this state. It's been this way since probably before puberty, and each time I just somehow wade through it, dropping out of courses, losing friends, throwing away chances. There must be a way out. There must be some way out.