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It’s been about a week since I went more than about four hours without crying. Not cathartic sobbing, but a slow, defeated stream. On and off. I shouldn’t mark time. I’m losing my grip a little, saying things I never want said, things I shouldn’t say, things that make me wish I hadn’t and feel unsafe and make other people sad. Suicidal ideation has shifted from passive to active. From an idea of an escape, to a torturous decision. When the thick, hopeless fog of depression means I can’t tell what’s me and what’s lies any more, combines with the worst bits of anxiety, adding urgency to the bits right in my core, that know I must not be, I must *have never been*. I’m past calling any kind of crisis services; I make it or I don’t. That’s the best way. But it is a horrible realisation, when I’m toe to toe with the abyss, the reflex is to wonder what to do… but the reality is there is nothing I can do.

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