Too high a price

I've decided to risk the loony bin. I need help desperately, and the only way to convince them how dire it is, is to tell them how dire it is.

I don't want to die. In fact, I want to live very much. There's so much in this world that I love. I don't want to lose any of it. That's why I'm going to talk to my shrink on Wednesday. I'm going to be upfront and honest about these feelings. Actually go to them instead of waiting for them to ask and then dance around the question out of fear. I'm going to go to them because I know deep down that if I don't get help soon, I won't be around much longer. And I very much want to be around. I've talked to hubby. He wants me to ask for help, too.

This change that occurred the other night in my thinking is so elusive. I can barely explain it to myself, let alone anyone else. The closest I can come is this: I want to live. But if the price of living is all this mental pain, then the price is too high. I've gotten nothing but empty promises for 16 years, the pain for 18 years. If someone can't help me, can't convince me that in 50 years I won't be exactly the same, then enough is enough. I'm done.

That's why I'm telling my shrink. I don't want to get to that point where I'm out of options. I already feel like I'm speeding there crazy fast. And this time, out of options is for real.