Sorry for the lack of posts lately. I’ve been very tired and promised my partner that I wouldn’t blog whilst I’m meant to be working. Well, this is my lunch break so hopefully this doesn’t count!
I’m in a little bit of a sorry state at the moment. I’ve developed some god awful cold over the weekend (I’m blaming my boss!) and also had a very late night on Saturday (although I’d kind of prepared by sleeping for 18 hours the night before!).
The night before was also the closest I’ve ever come to actually committing suicide. It scared me a little. Although not as much as it scared my partner.
It wasn’t particularly dramatic. But it was measured, and thought through. And I started going through with it. It was nothing too terrible. I took 4 co-dydramol before my partner found me. Yep. Only 4. Pathetic I’m aware. But not to me. Not when I was doing this, taking a tablet only every time I’d counted to 150 and asked myself if it was what I wanted to do. And the answer was consistently yes. And would have remained so.
So, this scares me.
I should probably make an appointment to see the doctor. I also need to see them to get support with regards to my ME. But I daren’t. I’m so worried that they’ll tell me it’s all in my mind. That I’m a hypochondriac who is wasting their time. I know labels aren’t great, but without my labels, what am I? A fat, lazy cunt who can’t cope with the real world is what.
Thanks if you’ve read this. Please don’t laugh at me for my pathetic SA.