I Hate Everyone Who Isn’t Suicidal

Today I feel angry.

Really angry.

Today I feel that my mentally ill, depressed, bipolar life is inexorably unfair.

Today I hate everyone.

I Hate Everyone Who Isn’t Suicidal

Yes, I know, I’m supposed to be better than that. Yes, I know, I’m supposed to rise above that. Yes, I know that isn’t fair or particularly true. But I feel it anyway. You try being this depressed. You try being this suicidal. See how many people you hate.

You Want, You Desire, Something

What do you want? Chocolate cake? Sex? Sun? A promotion? A child? A new car? More friends? To lose weight? To not get a divorce? To nap? To write? To laugh? To watch the latest episode of Top Chef?

I hate you.

I Only Want to Die

I only want the one thing: to die. I only want the thing I can’t have. Or rather I can have it, any time, but others swear I shouldn’t have it, and if I have it, it’ll be the last thing I ever have.

I hate everyone else for getting to want something else. I hate everyone for not writing a suicide note. I hate everyone for not having to take 6 seemingly-ineffectual meds. I hate everyone who wants to live. You are all lucky. And blessed. And I hate you.

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