I'm sorry to post again. I'm sorry to be so negative just before Christmas. But anyone's experiences would be very welcome.
I'm less acutely suicidal than two weeks ago. I can say, just about, that much. I'm still crying almost every day. I've been at my desk, welling up at work all afternoon (I went back to work this week).
I'm still not eating a lot. I've lost almost a stone. I still wish that I would be run over, or shot. That someone else would take the decision and I wouldn't have to feel guilty. At the moment I feel tortured - I know I can't hurt myself seriously, but wish I wasn't around. I don't want to hurt DD. But I don't want to be alive.
It's been 8 days since I last had contact with DP. I'm bereft and I'm angry. I can't understand how she can cope. How she can get on in life. And how it seems that she doesn't care. I could be dead, or in hospital and she wouldn't know unless someone told her. For someone who professed to love me so much, it doesn't really feel that way.
If I were dead, would she realise how much I needed her and how frankly, she was the only once who could have helped but didn't. Would she regret moving out? Of course it's irrelevant, since if I were dead, I wouldn't know how she would react. I think that's the odd thing with one's ego.
Everything is bleak and pointless. I can't remember how life used to be and how I somehow managed to get through each day happily before I met her. What was the purpose then? What got me through each day and each week? I honestly don't remember. I know rationally, somehow, that it didn't seem that life needed a purpose so much. That I went to work, spent time with DD, went on holiday, saw friends. But now all that is so utterly irrelevant. The only plans I want are the ones I had with DP. Even if they made me miserable - nothing is as hideous as how I feel now.
Part of me wishes I'd actually killed myself when I was suicidal. Then I wouldn't still be suffering, but would be out of it all. Now I'm suffering, I hate myself and I hate that I've fucked my life up to this degree, but I don't have the impetus to actually do anything.
I'm 33. My life has fallen apart and I cannot cope with anything any more. I have no resilience left. I am a shell. My colleagues are all married and having babies. My friends are all married with young children. People are excited about Christmas. I am dreading everything. Life is overwhelming in its horror.
I cannot contemplate how I get through the weekend. I cannot understand why, oh why, four weeks ago I thought it would be a good idea to end the relationship. It's some twisted irony isn't it?
Why? I cannot fathom how I've ended up here. Why did I make the decisions I did? Why am I like this? Why won't she come back? Why can I read threads about people whose husbands are having affairs, whose relatives are dying, yet they are still upbeat, or at least not like this. On paper there are positives - good job, good friends, beautiful DD, nice house. The reality is that nothing matters. I am trapped and I have no way forward.