I don't have any questions or anything, just really need to get this out.
I'm 20 years old and I haven't wanted to live since I was 13. It's not that anything terrible happened to me back then. Just that as I grew up I realized that I don't really see a reason for life. We work and we work just to live. And even the things I enjoy seem fleeting. Like, I might enjoy travelling and seeing the majesty of nature and the good in people, but what does it really mean in the end?
It's only gotten worse since I was 16. I started having panic attacks and they terrify me. Not many people can see the darkness at the edge of their vision but I can. When I have a panic attack it's like what I see is only a window and I'm falling backwards from it, out of reality, into this vast, empty nothingness. And the feeling that I'm going to have one is constantly there, I'm constantly fighting it. Anytime I'm out in the open, or can't feel anything behind me it gets worse. The only thing that ever helps is to be touching someone that I trust, usually my boyfriend. But it seems so unfair to him that no matter where we go I have to be right next to him, just in case. It's so exhausting to be constantly fighting my own mind, that every other little stressful thing is overwhelming.
6 months ago I was engaged. It wasn't the healthiest relationship and I knew that, but I was happy. I'm fairly certain he was depressed. It seemed like he felt trapped by his life. He dropped out of high school to go to an alternative education school to try to finish on time, but he still had trouble. He couldn't find a job better than working at Little Caesars. I was with him for 2 years and in the beginning he was amazing. One of those people who were perpetually in a good mood and the life of the party. But 1 year and 1/2 later he was always sad, or angry, or just apathetic. He still loved me though, he was affectionate, gentle, and caring. When we were around our friends he seemed like he was happy. He smoked pot everyday, mostly just when we were sitting around in his room (which is pretty much all we did towards the end) (I don't smoke and am kind of against it, but tolerated it then) but sometimes with his friends. The last year of our relationship it seemed like if he was awake, he was high. About 3 months before we broke up, he lost his job. I was paying for everything while he was looking for a job, and I didn't really mind it. But he became an alchoholic too. He would drink 5-6 nights out of the week, whenever he would get me to buy it or he could scrounge up the money. I'd come home from work at 4:30 and he would already be drinking if not drunk. Then he got a job at Meijer as a cart attendent. He worked nights so I never saw him but he still didn't stop drinking when he could. I met a man at my work, we had a connection and I decided I wanted to leave my fiance. He still wanted to try to be friends, to try to work things out. I don't think I really thought it was a permanent break up. I just wanted to give him a chance to grow up a little. Realize he couldn't keep living like that. 2 weeks after I left him he committed suicide. He sent me texts before he did, but I turned off my phone. He had told me once that he had almost killed himself before he met me, because he thought he'd never find love.
Everyone tells me it's not my fault, and I know it's not. He had mental issues that had nothing to do with me, and he probably would have killed himself at some point in time regardless. But it hurts to know that I was the reason. Not that he did it, just that he did it then. I was the thing he was thinking of. And he made it quite clear in the txts that I was, but even he told me it wasn't my fault.
When it first happened, I just wanted to be with him. I planned my suicide for a month. I didn't want to escape. I didn't think it was my only option. I just wanted to try to follow him to wherever he went ( I'm an atheist). But I couldn't bear the thought of hurting all the people who loved me. I'm not naive enough to think that no one cares. There are too many people who would be crushed if I took my own life. So I gave up on it. I decided to try and live like I always had.
I'm still with the man I met through work. I love him and he's wonderful. We moved to Houston, TX together ( I'm originally from Detroit) and I hoped that a change like that would help, but it hasn't. I haven't found a job yet because I'm scared of going places alone, and I feel useless because I haven't. It seems like everyday I just get more scared, and depressed, and hopeless. I can't stand the thought of another 5 years living like this, let alone the rest of my life. To be constantly fighting my panic attacks, and my guilt, and my depression. It doesnt seem worth it, and there is no end in sight. I don't want to live because it seems like so much effort, for so little gain. I don't want to die, because of the pain I would cause others. Sometimes I wish I had never been born at all.