Marsh Mallow

My son turned 16 yesterday, and I bought him a bag of Marshmallows and a big bar of chocolate, and a bottle of Coke. He was very happy.
He didn't want drugs and alcohol like some teenagers would -- just sweets and pop.
He's a good boy.

***

In other news, I am feeling very low.

So low, I may have to phone my psychiatrist for an emergency appointment.

My thoughts of suicide are getting more frequent and more detailed, and I'm finding them harder and harder to cope with.

It hasn't been helped by someone's blog post about he who left me -- a mundane post about his emails -- but never the less a post that shows his life happily goes on as normal, with friends and emails and blah. When my life seems to be completely taken over with trying to sort my head out.

I said to him one time, when he first suggested that I get help, that I had been down that road before and it would end badly. Leave it alone, I said; I'm better off left alone.

I should have listened to myself; way back when I still had a life, I should have listened.
Now I can't go out, have no friends, and live with a constant, debilitating fear of everything. It's horrible. That's not to mention the handfuls of pills I have to take each day.

Life is not fun.

I'm not sure where the fear comes from -- I think it's a fear of all the things I should have learned to deal with since childhood, that I actually dealt with in a hypomanic haze rather than really mastered, and now I have to cope with them all at once, with my hypomanic defences stripped away.
I'm somewhat like a child living the life of a forty-something.

So life, for me, is not fun.

I don't know the answer, at the moment.
I just know that without someone to hold my hand, the world seems very bleak.