7/6/14:

I am starting to fear for my family…not in a homicidal sense but just the opposite: my life. I need to seek help for their sake but I have zero faith in any of the help actually working. I am just existing, a hallow shell of a human. It’s weird how I am feeling…maybe dead is an accurate description.

7/7/14:

My brother said he was going to spend the next few days here. He said he was having some trouble with a friend/roommate. The roommate had apparently become a bit confrontational after having a few too many drinks. This same friend also lost his father to suicide nearly a year ago. I felt affected by this because I had often contemplated the same. As the conversation progressed, the subject changed to stressors and troubled areas in my brother’s life. I guess because he is younger than me, I felt compelled to show sympathy and understanding. My brother knows part of my struggle—thanks to me causing incidences when he was under 18 and still at home. He’s had to deal with me going to the hospital, my parents’ reaction to some of my choices and my moods. I am feeling extreme guilt as I think about this…I feel like I shifted too much of my parents’ attention towards myself.
Even with last night’s talk, I hate the fact I broke down and revealed some dark thoughts. Not just because my brother was there but also because of my mom’s presence too. I have always hated letting my “darkness” out in front of them. I knew my mom had been drinking and therefore may not have “totally” been there but still knowing my brother had to listen to me has put quite a bit of guilt and shame on me. I guess the need to protect is deeply ingrained in my psyche.