Each day that passes reduces my faith that things will get better. This evening, I began drafting the letters I would leave behind, should my pain finally reach the point of completely exceeding my ability to cope. Favorite Person, Curly, Soul Sister, my mother, my father, my dear sister, my grandmother. Other friends that have touched my life in some way. They will all have some last vestige of me, once I've gone. If I leave. A normal person would be deeply disturbed by this, by the urge to begin putting down the thoughts I'll leave behind, but this feels more like an inevitability than anything. It's as though the whole of my existence has led to my inhabiting the depths of distress that drives people to contemplate ending their own lives. It's truly a strange state to exist in. There's the continued awareness that this...this urge is completely nonsensical, and that it won't actually solve anything, and that regardless of what the depression tells me, oth...
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