~A Bitter Swallow~

With all my previous bouts with depression, the one thing that separated me from the norms (considering the level of "depressed" I rated based off of their tests) was that I never contemplated suicide.  Jumping in my car and driving until I ran out of gas, then hopping on a bus until it stopped- yes.  But suicide, no.  I always felt that suicide was a cop-out, and the most selfish thing anyone could ever, ever do.  I still do.  Of course, back then I had others around me who made me feel wanted.  I felt like there were people I could turn to, people I could talk to, people who would actually miss me if I left like that. 

I guess that's what scares me the most this time around.  I don't feel like I have those people anymore.  I don't feel like anyone would be particularly upset, at least not for very long.  It would be more of an "Oh, well that sucks..." and then life would move on.  Suicide has entered my thoughts on many occasions this go-around.  I just don't see the purpose of being here.  I don't have a purpose.  

Other than my kids.  Many parents say that their kids are their life.  And I'm sure that they mean it.  But I wonder how many of them are as literal as "My kids are why I am still alive"?  Because my kids are the only reason I haven't acted on those contemplations.  When I get really down and to that point, I see their faces, and wonder what would happen to them if I were to take the coward's way out.  And I can't do it. 

Many parents say that they would give up their life for their kids.   I am giving up my death for them. 

I'm not sure if that's honorable or not.