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There is a bottle of 30 Ambien in the bedroom, and a few of my last bottle. If I take them all it might be fatal. How easy, I think. How easy it would be. Just to go to sleep and leave it all behind. Stop the anxiety and the pain and the tiredness. To stop all these feelings I don’t know how to cope with. To stop the hard choices. To stop expectations and everyone depending on me. To never worry or feel depressed or hate myself ever again.

But then I think, what about those who love me? What about those who depend on me? What if I really will be damned to hell for ending my own life?

So I secretly hope, but not really, but maybe really, that my heart will stop. That my body will just stop on its own. That I’ll be hit by a car or something. Because I’m tired of living. And what a selfish pathetic wretch I am for that

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