I Don’t Want to Die. I Just Don’t Want to Exist.

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I have suicidal thoughts, but I’m not suicidal.

Yes, you read that correctly, and if you’ve ever been in that state of mind, you didn’t have to read that sentence twice.

For those who haven’t, I’ll elaborate as best as I can.

Not every day but on a pretty consistent basis, I imagine my death. Vividly.

Even down to being found and what the reaction would be. I think about who would care, what people would say.

How it would or wouldn’t affect others’ lives. How much better everyone’s lives would be without me. If I just didn’t exist.

That’s the thing: I don’t want to die. I just don’t want to exist.

I don’t want that out of selfishness, but in fact, for those around me.

I hate feeling like a burden. I hate being a downer. I hate being an over-the-top upper. I hate that my husband has to be there for me and listen to me cry and groan and yell and be all over the place. I hate that I bother co-workers and friends with my awkwardness and hyperness and depressing energy, the way I pull away and get quiet when I’m all in my head.

Things are hard for me, yes… but it’s so hard for those who surround me too.

I don’t want be this way for anybody. Therefore, I truly wish I didn’t exist.

But don’t fret. I don’t need to be rescued. I am completely safe. I don’t want to die. I just don’t want to exist.

By  for TheMighty

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