This morning I talked to my mom. I told her I couldn’t take it anymore and didn’t know what to do. I told her that I want to kill myself all the time and I’m afraid I’m going to snap again. It’s been going on for months but I just hoped I could deal with it and make it go away. 

I didn’t think I would ever ask for help, but I did. I hated it. I just don’t know what to do anymore and I want to die. I can’t hurt my mom again though. There are other people involved here. I don’t want to mess up their lives anymore.

So I said I needed to go back to psych. I need to go somewhere where I’m safe. It sucks but somehow it’s comforting. It’s soothing and scary at the same time. 

We’re going to talk to my therapist as soon as possible to talk about my options for hospitalization. He’s not answering his phone though. I know it’s Saturday, he’s with his wife and daughter. God, I’m such a burden. 

I just saw him last night. I couldn’t tell him though. I haven’t told him the extent of my depression in months.