A
airguitar
New Member
- Feb 22, 2025
- 1
It's here again. That storm. That fucking storm. It doesn't knock. It doesn't care if you're already drowning. It just rolls in, black and suffocating, and laughs as it drags you under. I know its name: PMDD. Premenstrual Dysphoric Disorder. A clinical term for a chaos that feels anything but clinical.
I'm already suicidal. I'm already holding the pieces of myself together with trembling hands, trying to remember what it felt like to be whole. But PMDD doesn't care about your brokenness. No, it comes like a thief stealing whatever scraps of sanity you have left and leaves you with nothing but the urge to kill yourself.
I have a plan. SN. I've researched it. But when PMDD hits, all that logic goes out the window. The plan doesn't matter. The research doesn't matter. All that matters is the overwhelming, suffocating pain, and the desperate need to make it stop. Right here, right now.
I don't care about the plan anymore. I don't care about the SN I haven't even bought yet. I don't care about anything except killing myself with whatever method, even the stupid one. I don't care about the risk of messing up, of ending up a vegetable, of someone finding me mid-attempt and "saving" me.
I hate that I have to live with it. That I have to endure it, over and over and over again like some cruel, endless loop.
Please keep me sane...
I'm already suicidal. I'm already holding the pieces of myself together with trembling hands, trying to remember what it felt like to be whole. But PMDD doesn't care about your brokenness. No, it comes like a thief stealing whatever scraps of sanity you have left and leaves you with nothing but the urge to kill yourself.
I have a plan. SN. I've researched it. But when PMDD hits, all that logic goes out the window. The plan doesn't matter. The research doesn't matter. All that matters is the overwhelming, suffocating pain, and the desperate need to make it stop. Right here, right now.
I don't care about the plan anymore. I don't care about the SN I haven't even bought yet. I don't care about anything except killing myself with whatever method, even the stupid one. I don't care about the risk of messing up, of ending up a vegetable, of someone finding me mid-attempt and "saving" me.
I hate that I have to live with it. That I have to endure it, over and over and over again like some cruel, endless loop.
Please keep me sane...