classify text {gangguan, kebencian, porno, penyakit psikiatri atau mental, sifat perkauman, penghinaan agama, selamat untuk bekerja, mencederakan diri sendiri, seksis}, text `wasted potentialThrowaway.

Things are bad.  I've spent the last 3 days in an empty room contemplating the pistol I bought for home protection.  My reasons for failing to off myself(my mom, my dog, if you want to know) are growing more...abstract.  

You can skip over this history I'm about to write, if you like, but here goes.  I'll do a tl;dr at the end.

I've been in and out of therapy, antidepressants, and alcoholism since I was a teenager.  No real reason why.  I had a great childhood.  I had a pony, for god's sake.  I was top of my class every year without even trying.  I was bored and lonely and not terribly popular, but as an only child I was very used to being alone, and my parents were great.  The kind of people my few friends would come to for advice and support.  Every teacher I had loved me and told me they couldn't wait to see what I would become.

Well, I became a 35 year old stripper with a drinking problem.

I went to college, tried to study art, couldn't get out of bed for a whole semester, failed out.  I went to therapy, got on prozac, and tried again.  Again I got depressed and failed out.

I got into a series of physically and emotionally abusive relationships with very smart, very tormented men.  I was attracted to their brokenness, their violence, because I saw it in myself.  No nice man could ever like or understand me, and I was bored by them.  Things got darker and rougher.  I got hurt -- a lot.  

Finally, in an attempt to distance myself, I moved across the country and tried to start over.  Immediately I hooked up with what I thought was a great guy...long story short, I ended up in the hospital covered in stitches after a blowout fight, a car chase, and a suicide attempt.  After that I got mad.  I quit dating and started taking Krav Maga.  I became known as the "scary chick" in class.  

About a year into Krav, I started stripping, and I loved it.  I loved talking to people, and I loved the dancing.  I loved the freedom and the money to travel.  I met a great guy.  Things were looking up until he cheated on me with my best friend.  Back to zero for me.

I lost all my anger, and took to my bed like some ridiculous Victorian flower.  Months passed.  Finally, I had enough.  I booked tickets to [exotic city] and had a fabulous vacation.  I threw the ring the lying bastard had given me into the ocean, and met some amazing women.  I felt healed.

On my last night there, I met a man.  We got to talking, and it turned out he was from the same city back home as I.  It felt like fate.  It felt like fucking soul mates.  Sure, he had a drinking problem, but who didn't in my world?

...Very, very long depressing story short, 2 years later he left me without a word.  I got a phone call after not hearing from him for over a week that he'd moved thousands of miles away.  I'd thought he was dead.  I guess I appreciate the call?

Which brings us to now.  It's been nearly two months and I just cannot get over it.  Two months ago we were talking about marriage.  Now the love of my life is gone and after all these years of pulling my depressed ass out of the mud by my bootstraps...I just don't have it in me any more.  It never works, it never lasts.  I'm only attracted to the wrong things.  

I still do well at work, and it's literally the only thing that gets me out of bed.  I go pretend to be someone else, listen to the problems of men that will come and go, drink until the world is a little softer.  I dread going to work until I'm there, then I dread going home.  

I don't have anything to offer anyone.  I spend all day and all night writing and crying until I'm emptied out, then I stare at the wall until I'm exhausted enough to sleep.  I'm sleeping easily 12-15 hours a day now.  I have no plans and no ambitions.  I can't get excited about travel, which was always my savior.  I can't get mad.  I can't paint.  I'm getting much too thin.

This corner I've painted myself into is getting much too small, and I'm too old to start over again.  I don't have it in me, I just don't.  I don't even know what I could do.  I have a long employment gap and no credit, I never graduated college.  I have acquaintances but no real friends, and I'm terribly uncomfortable talking about my emotions anyway.  The last therapist I went to see told me he couldn't treat me because I was too much a liability.  I don't want to get on meds again; they either make me ragey or I lose my memory.  Even if I'm in misery I'd prefer to remember it.

I'm thinking, I guess, about trying to commit myself to a psych ward for 72 hours.  At least the environment would change.  I don't know if it would help.  I'm just so tired.

tl;dr:  lifetime of bad choices.  Don't have energy, ideas, or desire on how to get myself out of it.  Living through the days is honestly just getting too painful.  I don't really prefer to die, I just don't see another option.

Thank you for listening.`
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