tisbea if there is any thing yopu can count on isa tomoprrow and change look for
both of them then take control you are smart enough to

--- On Tue, 3/31/09, Charlene <charly100165@...> wrote:


From: Charlene <charly100165@...>
Subject: [Suicide] Re: My life is a lie
To: suicide4@yahoogroups.com
Date: Tuesday, March 31, 2009, 9:43 PM






--- In suicide4@yahoogroup s.com, "tisbea@..." <tisbea@...> wrote:
>
> I'm a professional. Really. I go to a respected job every day, I lead, I plan,
I force my smile. I fake it all day long.
>
> Not a morning comes that I don't curse my first breath. My first moment of
awareness is pain; pain that I am still here in this awful place, pain that I
know I have to make it through at least one more day until the moment that I can
crawl back into the darkness and safety of my bed.
>
> The clock ticks by at work. People walk en masse; I know they belong here. I'm
the outsider. I want to stand up, scream, yell, wave my arms... do anything to
enter their world and uncover the mystery that makes them smile. But they remain
out of reach. Intangible. Their laughter, their jokes, their paltry
conversations all slip through my fingers as I try desperately to hold on. I am
sometimes invisible as I reach out, though sometimes they see me only long
enough to blithely reject my advances and return to their happy world. Could
there be a sign above my head? A tattoo on my forehead? Some warning to the rest
of this world that I am not to be accepted? That the secret of true happiness is
absolutely not to be shared with me?
>
> So far, I've succeeded as an outsider. Depressed but functional.
>
> But now I'm slipping to pieces. Little bits of my mind spin out of control,
and my words tumble clumsily like jagged glass as I try to speak. I hate my face
and I hate that others have to be subjected to its ugliness as well. I can't
imagine continuing my life, every day, all day, in this much pain and solitude.
>
> I'll go to bed tonight. I'll pray to not wake up tomorrow, but I know I will.
I'll curse the morning light, cry all the way in to work, then paste on my false
smile and try to make it until the end of the day. On my break, I'll cry in the
bathroom, but clean myself up in time to go back to my desk and smile at my
coworkers. I'm not true to myself and I'm not true to them. I'll come home to my
empty house. I'll go to bed and start the whole process again the next day.
>
> I honestly don't see a way out of this hopeless race.
>
> Are there any other professionals who feel this alone? Crushed? Out of
control? Simply tired and overwhelmed by the mere thought of getting out of bed?
>
> If I find out I'm alone, I honestly won't be surprised. But it would be nice
to hear from someone.
>
> Thanks for reading.
> ellie
>
Hi Ellie,

I would still be a good professional if my long list of major health issues,
including a terminal health problem hadn't taken my ability to work away forcing
me to live on disability. I also ask to not wake up every morning & get pissed
off at the sight of each new day, not new to me since everyday is the same,
crappy.

I would like to offer my friendship, hoping that maybe we can help support each
other. Even though I want to die each night, I also search for some reason to
have to be here. The world really sucks.

I also would like to send you a connection request, will do so when I finish
this post. I hope you'll accept my request.

Take care,
Charlene



















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