/lit/ - Literature

I don’t know if it is the pressure of change in general that works me over or maybe it is the things themself but between feeling pathetic all the time and thinking I am as charismatic as Napoleon Bonaparte it feels impossible to trust what it is that I tell myself is true. My Father is diagnosed Bipolar so logic would say I am as well but that’s too easy and that’s a cop out theory. Someone as smart as I think I may be would be able to navigate the mental maze if put myself in. There in that last statement I accused myself as the one at fault for things objectively and easily seen as not in my control, nor even close to it. It’s stacked up until the point where any minor affront in my direction sends me all the way down to the bottom. I have made it this far without naming that which occupies the entirety of my mind these days for a lot of cowardly reasons, namely that I am afraid they will not be seen as legitimate enough to constitute a mental breakdown, and also that the mention of them will bring them to life because as they are now they are simply fears of what may be to come. I have access to therapy but instead of the obvious correct choice in utilizing that privilege I feel that the pressure of making the mission at work more difficult on my coworkers keeps me from speaking up about that fact that I am contemplating suicide in a serious manner for the first time since I was 6 when I spent 6 months faking sick and crying all day and night until it suddenly went away and the following year I think could only be described as mania although it’s ridiculous to suggest a young’n could for one go through that manifestation of the two headed demon which haunts my Father or two that I could be a trusted narrator to myself in defining what it was like. Without a shadow of a doubt if my Mother’s cancer takes her this time I will make an attention-seeking attempt on my life which will ironically set me up to get out of the job that I hate so much and grant me near 100% disability from the Veterans Assembly. My saintly fiancé is the only thing keeping the attempt an attempt and not a complete action, maybe my kid brother as well but even thoufh I know for a fact it isn’t true I still have the voice in my head telling me everyone of them would be better off were I gone and now that I am writing this and remembering back to what I’ve written I am laughing at myself for doing a great job of describing teenage angst although I am 26 this year. There isn’t much else on my mind anymore but I have a lot to be blessed for and I wish I still had thay charisma from when I was younger when I thought that I regularly observed God answering my prayers directly, like when I prayed for a summer job and the conversation with God was interrupted by a call in response to my resumé or when I was 14 and I told God to show me a sign and that sedan was hit in front of me because it cut me off a half mile earlier. I’m sorry I’m a baby.