I went out for Friday lunch this afternoon. That was okay. I felt fine. Food was good. People were their usual selves. But I still cannot get these suicidal thoughts out of my head. They are still of overdosing on Ativan. (And some of stabbing myself, though those are fewer.) I still have not hidden them from myself. I haven't taken any in a few days, either. But at the moment, I was walking to the car, and thought I'd stop and write this post before I went home. I'd like to just get back into bed, actually. All around me here at this desk in the Depression Center are pamphlets about suicide and hotline numbers. There must be 10 of them if there's one. Ironic, I guess. I think I may just be obsessed with the idea- suicidal ideation- rather than want to do it. Then again, I keep taking more and more Ativan which means I want to check out in some way. My friends on my bipolar board are worried. My regular friends, I don't generally tell these things to, except the few that will read this post. Maybe I am not suicidal but merely obessed with the idea of it.
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