I don't usually care about the Superbowl. Unless the Steelers are in it, I'm not that interested, and even when the Steelers are in it, I flip back and forth between the Superbowl and the Puppy Bowl
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Last Christmas Eve I wrote a suicide note, and I genuinely believed that I was ready to for my life to be over and that there was no reason for me to go on
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I have an appointment with a psychiatrist on January 5th. I can't deal with the depression and anxiety anymore and it's out of hand to the point that I already feel dead.
I can't breathe. My chest hurts. I'm shaking from head to foot. I can't move without having an anxiety attack, my thoughts are so scattered they don't feel like my own, I can't stop thinking about what a failure I am, and I also can't stop thinking about killing myself.
I don't know what to do. I'm afraid of what I'm going to do.
She did it she did it she did it she did it she did it she did it she did it she did it she did it she did it she did it she did it she did it she did it she did it she did it She did it she did it she did it she did it she did it she did it she did it she did it she did it she did it she did it she did it she did it she did it she did it she did
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