I keep telling myself that plenty of other women have done this and that there are worse things to happen to me and to my life. This should give me perspective right? In some ways yes. But it doesn't stop the emotions I feel right now. The severe heaviness that is weighing me down. I feel like I'm drowning in everything. I hate myself for putting me into this position. I just want to stop hurting, but the guilty I feel is hideous. I'm so tired already of feeling this way and I don't know where and how and why it will end. I have everything I said I wanted. A job. A good, stable morally helping job. A boyfriend - he practically is anyway. Good friends and people I speak to every day. So why am I not content. I don't even really strive to be happy but I just don't. I don't. I can't even express my feelings because I don't even know what they are.
I can't even be arsed to deal with this shit. I'm trying I really am. I've started back at the gym - I almost cried in the gym today. How embarrassingly awful is that. I just want to shout PULL YOURSELF TOGETHER. And then I snap out of it for a little while.. .. Until I feel myself sinking back down again. I'm going to book a doctors appointment and see what she suggests. I might have to have some counselling or something to help me deal with this. I don't even know if I want to do that because I don't really like talking about it anymore. When I was ok I could put a front on and it was fine. But now. Now I just don't want to talk about it. I don't want to see people. I just want my boy to give me a cuddle and tell me it'll be ok. But the worst bit? I don't even feel I can do that. I don't feel emotionally stable enough to let go. To open up. Because I think he will just run away. I don't have that emotional trust on him to let him in.
My mum? I semi have but she told me she was so proud of the way I've dealt with it. I just don't want to talk to anyone about it. But it's something I can't seem to forget about. I just feel awful. Awful. Awful. Awful. How the fuck could I do this to myself? I preach on to people about the arrogance of taking another life and here I am, having done the same. Even for whatever reason. I took that life. Even when people are so desperate to have that gift.
I don't want to be like this. But a part of me feels like I don't deserve to move on and be happy because what I have done is awful. So awful. I wish no-one knew. I wish I'd kept it a big secret and not told a soul. I feel like my heart's broken. Numb and angry. I don't want to see other people's joy. I don't want to see other people's happiness, it feels like a reminder of the thing I can't seem to get back to.