I’m still really depressed.
I’m still really anxious.
I asked the wife last night as we were going to bed why she wasn’t happy. She said she was happy. I guess I do see her smiling and laughing when she is with the baby.
Maybe it’s just me she isn’t happy with.
She said she can’t handle it when I get depressed. I agree. Her idea of handling my depression is getting angry with me, which only makes me more depressed.
There goes the only support system I had.
My parents are 8500 miles away, and as much as my mom likes to try and help on Facebook, her veiled arguments that maybe this is a sign I need to go back to church are not helping. I only see my Psychiatrist once a month for about ten minutes. I can’t afford a Therapist; we are barely making it by on what I get every month.
I am alone. I have no one I can just go to and talk.
I have a lot I want to talk about. I am trying to start a business, but am getting no support from anywhere. I just want to make a better life for my family. I’m not trying to get rich.
I left my family and everything I knew so I wouldn’t have to be alone. But here I am: just me and my twisted thoughts.
I don’t want to be alone; I’d rather be dead.
Dead sounds like a happy place to me. A nice long dirt nap I never wake up from. No feelings, no hurt and no loneliness. If there is a heaven or hell, I don’t want to go there. I just want to sleep.
I just want to sleep…goodnight.