I wish I knew what it was like to wake up and not want to kill myself. Even for a single day. I can escape the sweet solace of suicide calling for a few hours at a time, but at the end of the day, it’s still there. It’s comforting to think about not existing. Not being alive, not being here, no more pain, no more anything. It’s a nice thought. One I often get lost in. I crave to feel peace in any form and getting lost in my train of thoughts over the idea of not existing is my comfort zone. I wish I knew what it was like to want to be alive. Truthfully, the idea terrifies me. I’ve been depressed as long as I can remember. I do not remember what happy is. I’m good at being depressed and anxious and all of these horrible feelings are home for me. I do not know anything else.
While I wish there was a day I could wake up and be thankful for my existence, I cannot fathom the idea of waking up and not feeling like a prisoner in my own mind. Recovery is an unnerving concept. One that I am ready for but am very uncertain if it will ever come.