In it, I was trying to sleep on my couch, miserable and hating myself, when I heard someone moving around my apartment. At first, I was worried about an intruder, but that was quickly replaced by gladness. The only person it could be is my one friend who lives within an hour of me. They must have gotten concerned I haven't been on discord or steam in a while and come over to check on me! The door to the apartment building is supposed to lock when it closes but it sticks open half the time and I don't bother locking my apartment door half the time as well so that's definitely it. Suddenly, there's a gunshot, and I feel the impact in my abdomen. I'm too shocked to do or say anything and after a second or two, the rest of the magazine follows into my chest. For a instant, I panic. A flash of betrayal, a million thoughts about how I can stop the bleeding, how much it's going to hurt, am I going to survive. Then, I realize that I'm a dumbass. I shouldn't (and with this realization, don't) feel betrayed, I want this. I've wanted this for so long. I can finally let go. I don't need the panic, I don't need to think about how to survive, I can just be calm and let go. She's better than being the only friend to check in on me, she's the only friend who was willing to put me out of my misery. I hugged my stuffed animals tighter, relaxed, woke up, and freaked out a bit.

Not over the passive suicidal ideation thing, that's just reality for me and while living through it in a dream really makes you confront it, it's just... normal at this point. It was just an awful lot of emotions all at once when I'm number than I've been in a while, which is saying something. I got up, checked whether my door was locked (it was), had a cup of tea, and went back to sleep on the couch again.

I wish there was a moral or pleasant conclusion to this, I wish I could be like "and I that moment I realized I really wanted to live!" but there isn't. I'm just to be bringing more negativity and worry into the lives of those reading this. Sorry. This doesn't even really belong here but I can't think of a place it does and I feel compelled to tell the story.

I'm always the one trying to put stuff together and nothing ever ends up happening. It's clear I matter a lot less to everyone than they matter to me and that hurts. I really really wish that giving up on having people in my life would stop me from craving social interaction.

Mentioned feeling suicidal to the wrong friend and he freaked out and gave me the classically unhelpful/actively harmful pep talk and advice without ever trying to fucking understand and it makes me feel so fucking invisible. Like, people only care about me when I impact them by upsetting them at the thought of me harming myself. They don't actually care, they just want to make themselves feel better, so I get the "be better, I don't want to hear about you being suicidal anymore" talk so they can put my mental illness in the "done" pile and go back to not thinking about me. I do have a couple friends who will actually listen and empathize and understand, but there's only so much you can lay on someone before it drives them away.

I'm going to delete or abandon this account soon. Trying to be social on Lemmy kind of is worse than having no social interaction at all, the internet in general but more specifically this corner of it is just filled with arguments and negativity and I end up dreading seeing inbox notifications. So, if I stop posting, I'm probably still around, not that anyone's checking

Shame I can't get hit by an actual bus

I'm so tired. Why bother struggling to find insurance that lets me continue with my therapist. Why bother finding insurance at all. Why bother look for a job. Why put so much effort into a life I'm so tired of living? I know things won't improve. That they can't improve, really. Sometimes it might feel like things are better, but circumstances haven't changed, it's just the drugs making it not feel like it matters. I've given up on all these things that other people take for granted, and yet it still hurts to think about how I'll never get there. I'm so tired of it, and I don't see any way it ever changes. I just don't want to continue on. Why do people have to care about me? If they didn't, then I could just leave and not hurt them. Why isn't acceptable for me to just say "actually, nah, life isn't for me, see you never" and fucking die?

I'm pretty sure suicide's inevitable. At some point, I'm just not going to care enough about the guilt and go through with it, it's more just a matter of when that'll be. Makes me sad my online friends won't know for sure, but they'll probably guess after a few weeks of being offline. At least I don't have to worry about leaving work on short notice.

Hey all, as I've been thinking about who I want to be and how I want to transition, I've gotten to wondering about people's transition timelines in general. If it's something you're comfortable talking about, how long did it take you from realizing your trans to taking steps to transition? When did you start using different pronouns, when did you come out to people, how long did it take you to know you wanted HRT and then to start it?

I realized I wasn't cis a few months ago, and have been growing my hair out and experimenting with clothing. I know I want to get permanent facial hair removal, and am interested in HRT but have reservations, and would value hearing others experiences about how long it took them to know what they wanted. I'm a very hesitant and self-doubtful person in general, and I guess just feel a bit lost in how to go about self discovery here.

Editing to say thank you very much all for sharing, seeing how different everyone's experiences can be is honestly really comforting.

When I can't find another and run out of savings in a few months, that's when Ill kill myself.

Honestly did a bit of a trial run last night, fastened a bag over my head and snuggled my stuffed animals on the couch to see what it would be like. It's definitely something I can go through with if/when it comes to it. Taking other steps to make life less unbearable first, hence the title. I don't really see my life ending any other way though tbh, just more of a question of when. If I'm lucky, it'll be when the climate change induced famine prices me out of being able to eat and I chose not to starve. Anyways, sorry for making you read this. Fuck.

Edit: should have killed myself