Pretty much the only barrier between me and suicide is the knowledge that I’d be taking up to three people with me, but damn I’m so fucking tired of being the support-beam. I don’t resent it, I’m just exhausted. Meds are probably in the future but not looking forward to the pity party that’s going to happen when I tell the people in my life ‘yeah this is a thing.’ I know I’ll get the support but fuck I hate attention. When you’re the person that comes to the rescue and helps whenever there’s an issue, the people around you are always so fucking happy to help, which sounds like a good thing but I really do mean HAPPY, have you ever watched someone you care for try to hide the fact that they’re thrilled you’re losing your shit? The last fucking thing I want when I’m breaking is someone to be happy about the fact, even if it’s just eagerness to make good on some kind of perceived debt; have I ever expressed happiness over them hurting? No, their pain is cutting me to the bone because I’m a fucking empathy sponge, so is a little tact so much to ask? Then I feel like a piece of shit because I can’t even appreciate the support that’s mine for the asking and all these others haven’t got shit, but fuck I’m tired and I don’t want to deal with the fall-out.

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