Lost and Triggered.

The past few days I've been thinking about committing more so than usual. 

We all think about it once or twice in a lifetime, I know. But I don't just wonder for a brief second who would care, or whatever. 

I think about how much easier it would be on me and everyone around me. I sit and plan it. I contemplate the best and worst ways. 

And now that I'm going into senior year, there even more pressure than before. Everyone- from teachers to parents, relatives to friends- mentions college and a future. They question my interests and ideas; they ask where I want to go, what I want to do. Then I stare at them blankly, feeling out of control and uncomfortable. My head starts spinning and my mind reeling. Because, quite honestly, at seventeen, I have no fucking idea what I want to do. 

And it's not just a matter of what I do or don't want to do. It's more a matter of what I can or can't do. With crippling social anxiety and wavering depression, my options seem limited. 

My future concerning school and jobs aren't the only reason I want to commit, although they do play a role. 

I honestly cannot see myself growing old or having children and a family or a home or career. And I try to picture it; I try to think of my future, but it just seems like a black void. Nonexistent. 

I was being prepped for college- advanced and AP classes from the start. I used to know I was going to college. I used to want to go to college. It was the plan. But when my anxiety appeared and then worsened, my grades slipped, along with my confidence, hope, future, and certainty. I lost it all.

With all this talk about my future, I've been forced into really thinking about it. Do I want to go to college? Am I even able to? Where would I go? What would I do? 

And the coward in me speaks up. She tells me it would be easier just to kill myself and not worry. So why haven't I already? I suppose I still have some hope. 

I think the best way to do it would be by train- there's quite a few around here that are easy to get to. People have died on them before- purposely and accidentally. 

It would take a split second. One little step onto the tracks. 

Although. I do have a concern about the people controlling the train and the passengers. It would affect their lives, most likely. But not much, I figure. It's not like they would have known me. And anyone who knows me wouldn't care much. I only have one friend, and it's not like my family cares anyway. 

I've put thought into this. I would want my mother to suffer. I want her to know its her fault. That she is the reason I have anxiety, and therefore depression. I want her to know how I truly abhor her. I would leave a letter explaining my reasons, my hatred. I would make it obvious. Maybe even put it straight onto my bedroom walls. They're blank anyway. 

I know it's partially my fault. I'm sure there are more things I could do, but I'm trying. I have been. And Breena has helped- more than anyone ever has. And I'm forever grateful for that. 

But sometimes it feels like I've got no other options.  

I don't know. I'm just rambling. Just lost.