i want to die.
i have plans, i have notes, i have final wishes prepared in the event of my demise. but then i think about the mess i would leave behind. my husband couldn't keep up with the payments on the house by himself, and i know i'd scar him forever if he was the one to find my body. i can't bear to hurt him any more than i already do, so i suffer silently.
i'm supposed to be on antidepressants, but i didn't like the way they made me not feel. i didn't feel depressed, or happy, or awake. i wandered into oncoming traffic once, and would've been hit in a low-speed collision if my husband hadn't grabbed my arm.
i'm supposed to be in therapy, but i can't afford it.
i could turn to my friends, if i had any.
my husband is the only one who could listen to me, but he has his own problems -- he has depression, and he has bad days, and i can't bear the thought of making it worse.
so i sit here, and i shove everyone away, and i bide my time.
one day everything will align, and i can say goodbye.
