I have two great jobs that pay me enough to live comfortably on my own, though I currently live with my parents, who have always been supportive and there for me. I have an amazing brother and sister who would do near anything for me. Nephews who are hilarious and more like younger brothers to me than anything. I have a small collection of amazing, dedicated friends that are always there for me. I'm a lucky girl. I haven't had any trauma in my life. No bad breakups, no abuse. But I've never really known what its like to be happy or even content. As far back as I can remember, I've been a sad, quiet little thing. I don't see the point in living. But I'd played the game because it's what you do, right? Eventually things get better... right? Except they don't. I don't have any huge goals or dreams that I haven't already realized. I don't want kids. I don't want to get married or even be in a relationship. I don't believe in any god or afterlife. I have nothing to believe in, no faith, no hope for a better future. I could keep going on. But I feel like I'm suffocating... like I'm standing at the edge of a cliff with all the things in my life pushing against me and I don't know why I keep trying to stay on that edge. Why keep fighting the inevitable? I don't want to keep living. But I will be honest and admit I'm too scared of failure to try taking my life. I went on two very expensive trips recently, to an ideal place to end it... but I didn't because I couldn't find a good enough opportunity to act without someone catching me... trying to rescue me. If I could just find the perfect, uninterruptible way, I would be done. I was at the airport and called my therapist for an emergency appointment, which is tomorrow (she's coming in on a weekend to see just me, which is... comforting, I think, to know she's willing to do that)... but she hasn't really helped me so far besides suggesting I get on meds. I don't know what I expected when I first started seeing her... but that wasn't really it. That's all fine and dandy, but would drugs really make a shift in the things I do believe? That I'm living just to die anyway? That I'm going to die miserable and alone? I have told a friend because I thought it would make me feel a little better... but now I just feel guilty for burdening her with it and there's not much she can do to help since she lives in another country. I did think of packing it up and moving to her... but that still wouldn't change anything and if anything make things worse because I wouldn't have a job or anything. I'm feeling a little desperate and I might try again Sunday when I'll be home alone. But I'll probably just wuss out again... I don't know what to do anymore. How can I keep living like this?