I am afraid.

I am afraid. I am afraid. I am afraid. I am afraid.

I am afraid of my thoughts. When I am with people, my thoughts drift to how they would react if I died, what they would say, if they would cry, if they would be shocked... When I am alone, I dream of death. I desire it. I wonder why I would possibly go through all this pain, deal with being a childhood sexual abuse victim, deal with whatever disorder I might have...why would I do all this, just to die someday anyway? For my family? They will die someday, too. For future generations? Well, I don't want kids, and I don't plan on doing anything that will make me go down in history, so that doesn't matter. And anyway, they will die too. I will be forgotten and long dead someday, no matter when and how I die. Thoughts like these, though completely rational, scare me.

I am afraid of dying. It sounds weird, knowing that I am suicidal. But it's true. I believe in God, but would God accept me in to heaven if I kill myself? I don't know. I hope so. I am also afraid of dying because of possibility. What if things get better for me? What if this frame of mind I am in changes? What if?

I am afraid that if I talk about my desire for death, I will be completely outed. What will happen? Will I be put in a hospital? Will I have to be watched all the time? Will my parents have to know? I don't want to talk to them. I won't talk to them. I would rather die.

I am afraid that if I talk to my counselor about my desire for death, I will be given up on. It's happened before. Well, sort of. I don't remember exactly what happened or what I said, but he told me that he couldn't help me anymore. I didn't say that I was suicidal. I would never say something like that. I was a minor, so they would have to tell my parents. I'm not stupid. But he told me that he couldn't help me anymore. And I have to ask myself, was I too much? Was I a lost cause?

Am I a lost cause?