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Monday morning

Monday morning. Grey skies and rain. So is my mood. My sleep patterns are all over the place.
Last night, woke up about 1.30 and went to the kitchen. I had very dangerous thoughts on my mind. I opened the draw, looked in the paracetamol box, and saw there were only 8 tablets in there. I thought to myself "What's the point of doing this? You're only harming the people you leave behind". So I made a cup of tea and
went back to bed, having considered the futility of quite a few things. Was meant to go out today, but I feel thoroughly terrible, again.

It's like having a mind with a blanket thrown over it. You struggle like mad to get it off, but you can't. I feel as though I've hit another massive wall again, and in danger of undoing hard work and goodwill from other people. I'm only a danger to myself, will I press the self destruct button again?