I can sympathize. I've been in various therapies for over a year now. I haven't worked since January 26th of 2024 because I attempted on that day and was hospitalized on the 29th, lost my job on the 15th of February, and then kept attempting suicide every few months.
I equally want to live and I equally want to die. Part of me knows it can be better, part of me wants to fight to make it better. But then the other part of me knows that even if it did get better, it would all be for nothing anyways. It would be better for everyone if I died.
It's become an obsession and a compulsion now. I obsess over suicide for the majority of my waking hours, and when I have an opportunity to strangle myself with ratchet straps and not get caught I do, even if I don't want to die at that moment. I feel like I must do this, I must kill myself, I have to at least try, try to end this fucking charade. I've done it at least once weekly since November. I do this, then in the morning I get ready to attend IOP, or I prepare for my Ketamine treatments, or I tell my therapists about how my self harm and alcoholism is so much more manageable than it was before. It's such a joke.
I hate myself so much for it, I don't even consider them suicide attempts anymore, because even though I do it with the intent to die, I know I'll never actually do it. The worst that'll happen is that I pass out and have a seizure again, maybe I'll be reminded of what my agonal breathing sounds like. But I probably won't die. So I keep riding that line, hoping that one day I fuck it up and I don't wake up, because I only have to succeed once.
