Not meant to be

This past week I have spent mostly drunk and blacked out. I got a phone call and checked my call history to see if they had called before. I then found out I called my psychiatrist at 8:57pm and 8:58pm Friday night. I don't have any memory of it. I don't know why I would have done that. I don't know if I left a message.

I am surprisingly tired for someone who has barely gotten out of bed for days. I almost cancelled therapy because taking a shower was exhausting. I honestly think something might be wrong with me. I am tired. My chest/abdomen was hurting earlier. I don't know if it's because I am living off vodka, Gatorade, and popsicles, or I might have something wrong.

Therapy was.. hard. Particularly hard. I was honest. I admitted that I feel hopeless. I admitted that I have started to think I am defective. That normal people don't spend so much time in treatment. They don't find life so unbearable that she has to drink to not be suicidal when nothing that bad has ever happened to them. It can't be my family because my brother turned out relatively normal. Except she pointed out that he was always loud about his anger. I kept all my feelings quiet. I never felt normal. I remember being sad or anxious or convinced I didn't belong from a young age. I always felt something was wrong with me and that I had to work to get people to like me.

I think I know that I am much sicker than I ever thought. I have always thought that I would never live this long. I always knew that I wasn't cut out for life. I was terrified of the idea of living to 80 or 90. Most people want a long life. I stayed alive for other people. I stayed alive because my parents don't need to know they made a defective child. They didn't deserve me. They didn't do anything to me to fuck me up. I have heard that losing a child is the worst thing that could happen to a parent, and they don't deserve that.

I don't know how to explain this to them. I don't know how to tell them that their daughter is this crazy. I lie to them by default because they thought (or pretended) I was normal, and I need to be normal. Yet now my therapist has decided that she is ethically obligated to talk to them. She says that I am slowly killing myself, and she has to tell someone. Now I either have to tell them or she will call them when I see her next week. She says that I need treatment. That I need to go somewhere that can handle dual diagnoses. She is upset that Dove Tree didn't tell her or me that I was being discharged. They took me to a 24 hour facility 7 hours away from home and gave me no other options. Of course I wanted to be closer to home. I was terrified and alone and unprepared and 24 hours after trying to hang myself with a shoelace not prepared for sobriety.

I don't know what will happen now. I seriously doubt that I am able to find and keep a job. I don't have the money to support myself through more than next month. I would need 2 months notice to move out of my place. I don't know if I have the energy enough to clean and pack anyway. I honestly don't care about my stuff except the cats who seem to still love me despite living in this hell. Or I can choose death. I keep thinking of what to do with the cats. How do I make sure they survive. I know my thinking is fucked when I start thinking of dropping them off at my parents and wondering how to make sure people (friends, therapist, etc) know I am dead. I wish I could just drop off the cats with a note to not go in my apartment and be done. I wish I could explain that there is just something wrong with me, and I wasn't meant to live. I wish they would understand that it's not anyone's fault. I am just defective, and I have been fighting for years to live. Maybe that means I shouldn't.

I am doing my best to keep going because I know my family will never understand that. They will blame themselves. They will try to see where they went wrong. They will hurt. I would rather be the one hurting. I can't be the one hurting others. They will be left hurting, and I won't be at all. There is just something that goes against nature to choose the possibility of not existing. I may believe in God, but I know that I might be wrong. Eternity has always scared me, but I also know it isn't natural to do something and risk not existing at all.

I am rambling. I am tired. I am scared. I am fighting that urge to say fuck everyone else because I am not able to function. Instead I am drunk because I am so fucked up that consciousness is too hard. At least when I am drunk, killing myself is too much effort. I would rather stay in bed. I am not imagining this conversation with my parents is going to be pleasant, but I will need to know if they can help me with money. I also just hope that I can try to explain that I really can't function. I am not just choosing to drink. I am actually so crazy that I can either drink (or cut or purge) or be suicidal. They didn't make me crazy, but I also didn't choose to be crazy. I have kept myself alive for 30 years when I remember being suicidal at 12. I guess that also probably means I can do it a bit longer.

Sorry for so much depressing talk. I don't have anyone else to talk to and feel like I shouldn't keep this shit in my head.