So, this really is it.
I’ve come to the conclusion that I need help. Help from the outside, that is. I’m so tired of being introspective without really coming up with answers, but rather with more questions that ached to be answered.
I’ve thought of getting professional help many times now. I stumbled upon many opportunities to do so. But I always back out.
I always let my anxiety win against me.
Sometimes I feel like I’m betraying myself; that I’m robbing myself of opportunities to get better. I always forget that recovery is always and will always be better than quelling my anxiety for a few days. I always forget how much I want to get better, but I always remember how terrifying it could be. I always remember the bad parts of recovery: the part where I bare myself to another soul; and the uncertainty of whether it would really help me or not; and the relapse.
Tomorrow, I’ll try yet again to push my feet in recovery’s direction. I may or may not push through with it; there’s actually higher chances of me being killed tonight than actually going through with this (I know this now).
But hey, it wouldn’t hurt me if I tried seeking help again tomorrow, right?
Besides, I wouldn’t feel much more anxious than I already am. But if I can, I would.
If I fail tomorrow, well, I wouldn’t really know what I’d do to myself anymore.