I almost wrote a suicide note today. I don’t know if I would have done anything after writing it, I didn’t want to tempt fate. I almost relapsed this morning. Apparently I’m still a recovering cutter. I am so close to my 10 year mark. As of right now, 11:45pm on July 5th 2017 I have 46 days left since the last time I self harmed. 46 fucking days. I never thought I’d actually make it 10 years, but here I am. So god damn close I can almost taste it and I nearly threw it away.
But why? Why did I nearly abandon my desire, my dream to better myself? Because motherhood is shattering me. Living this life is killing me. I can’t imagine my life any other way. I sometimes try to, but it’s never better than what I have now.
The only reason I did not relapse, the only reason I did not write my suicide note or make any plans to end my life is because of the very children who are breaking my sanity. As I sat on the edge of my bed, sobbing uncontrollably, all three of my kids sat around me, hugging me and pat my back in an effort to comfort me. I cannot betray them. The only thing they are guilty of is giving me a purpose when I didn’t want one.
My family does not deserve the burden that I am. I wish I were a better mother and wife. I try so hard to be, but I fall miserably short.
I am so sorry.