Tried, once. Temazepam. Didn't have the guts to go all the way through with it.
Wouldn't even cross my mind now. Still have to deal with the same ol' demons, but I have a life now, a wife that I love more than anything, a couple of purry kittens and a fluffy dog.
I am glad I did not miss out on everything that I have now. Little things with great meaning.
Don't take this personally, Crazy, but I honestly believe that people who suffer from depression and come across as if they're dealing with it, but speak of suicide in romanticizing words...they aren't dealing with jack shit. It is people like that that can tell you how much they prefer to live, and be dead the next morning. I know because I've been down that road, and hope I never go back.
Romanticizing it all disgusts me. Sharing stories in detail disgusts me. Not because of the details, but because of the pride that a lot of people seem to feel telling these stories. As if they're in competition somehow. Honestly, when I used to cut my arm, there was no pride to it, there was no beauty to it.
At the same time, though, I realize it is part of depression, and I don't look down on anyone for any of it, regardless of whether they're dealing with it or not. Depression is a tunnel that seems like it's never going to end, when you're walking in it.
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