*Trigger warning: suicidal ideation*
The past while has been particularly tearful and particularly hopeless; the first stemming from the latter alongside my final admission to myself that it would be sad for me if I died (I never allow myself to feel sadness or any other negative emotions unless it is for other people or directed towards/attacking myself). Unfortunately, those things combined make for a hell of a lot of despair, especially when (quite confusingly for all involved) it feels like you don’t have a choice, like you’ve just had the news broken to you that you are terminally ill; but, in this case, the illness is going to eat away at you until you have the tiniest ounce of strength left and then cruelly make you use those dregs of strength to end things.
I’m still fighting and I’m still trying – I’m working with a lovely team who I can’t thank enough, and I’m putting my all into this. I’m just completely terrified that my all isn’t enough.