I will not ask him to take the role of a father figure and tell me everything will be okay; that wouldn’t be fair to him. But I can’t go to my own father because the devastation I feel has come from his mouth my entire life. I’m actually suicidal, in the same place I was two years ago. But telling means making him sad and worried when he just became happy again. How could I do that? But I’ve sliced up my chair with the scalpel because I promised myself I wouldn’t use such a thoughtful beautiful gift for something so ugly so I take it out on other things and use less effective tools. Depression is an ongoing plight but up until these past few months I’ve been able to convince myself that life really isn’t bad enough to kill oneself but I don’t believe that anymore even though im trying to tell myself that. I’m terrified of the Taliban, terrified and tired of COVID, I feel like I’ll never be strong enough to leave home. I’m in my twenties but I never intended or expected to live this long. My sister has been s******* harassed so many times at her job and I wish I could have taken her place every time.
