I thought I was doing well but the freakin holidays are getting to me more than I expected. I tried to kill myself in May after a year long relapse into depression. It wasn't my first attempt, so I thought I knew what to expect when I got out of the psych ward. But nothing has gone normal, if you can call getting out of the psych ward normal. I live on the other side of the US from my family and had developed a group of supportive friends who were like family to me...or so I thought. Every single one of them decided to walk right out of life while I was unconcious. I'd known all of them for over 10 years. Two of them had been in my life when I last attempted...they'd visited me in the psych ward then... Now, I have no one out here. Worse, my ex-friends started spreading lies. I know they wanted to believe that I had been doing drugs and sleeping around so that they'd feel less guilty about not doing anything when I told them I was suicidal. But I have never done drugs, haven't slept around in 8 years, and have a job with the government which requires a clearance. So now my job is in jeopardy, I'm being investigated for things I'd never do. I was diagnosed with fibromyalgia a month after I got out of the hospital. I was diagnosed with hypothyroidism while in the hospital. I spent years building a life: a successful career, good friends, a good life. It's all crumbling away while I watch. Half the time my finro is so bad I can't go to work which is really bad when they are investigating me anyway. I spent three weeks home bound so bad I had to crawl to the bathroom and terrified that I couldn't take care of myself. I am so mad at my ex-friends that sometimes I just sit here in the middle of the night yelling "how dare you leave me alone." Thanksgiving has always been my favorite holiday because it was the one holiday I always had someplace to go...sometimes more than one. This year, it's just me and my cats. I'm not dissing me cats...they really are all I have and I am so grateful for their presence in my life. Sometimes I hate the friends who saved me...dumped me at the hospital and drove off into the sunset... why save me if they were just going to leave my life? I hate that they watched me suffer for a over a year and did nothing; listened to me talk about wanting to be dead and did nothing; listened to me say I was suicidal and did nothing; watched as my soul, my heart, my self died under the onslaught of depression and did nothing... but when the body is threatened...have to save that...that's all that matters... keep the body alive, who cares about the rest. Even more, I mad that my safety plan failed because no one was dependable. I did everything on my plan. I told my three best friends, I told my therapist...the very day attempted I did all these things. Not even my therapist was willing to do anything for me. I'd fought myself on this for over a year. I didn't want to try to kill myself but the depression kept eating away at me. It was like the cravings when I tried to stop smoking...I finally weakened and couldn't resist the cravings any more, I had reached that level of pain where there is no other option. I had followed all the steps, got help as soon as the depression reappeared, did everything I could to take care of myself and get better. I still lost the battle. As a safety net, I relied on people to do the right thing but they all waited until the last moment and then ran away. And I try to think of things I am thankful for and so for...its my cats...thats it. I am bitter and cynical. That's not me. I don't even know who I am anymore. I was the person who gave 100% to work, to my friends. The person who dropped everything to rush to the side of a friend in need; sit with them in the hospital, take care of them during withdrawals, babysit their kids for two weeks while they went to europe, lend them money, whatever it took. I am the one that would push myself past my own limits to keep going, to work miracles on the job, to get things done. I was passionate. I cared. Now...I'm scared to care, scared of getting hurt again. Even scared to care about work...in case I lose that too. I'm terrified that I won't be able to take care of myself. Scared I'll have to go on disability. Scared to try anything new. Even on the days I feel physically okay, I can't work a full day emotionally. Who is this person? Where did I go? And who is that female in the mirror that looks so old? When did that happen? I feel like I have such a different personality that I wander if there was brain damage this time. Something subtle. That scares me too. I was never one to fear life or death. Now I do. I look for the positives but keep coming up with nothing. And I'm not even depressed anymore...got plenty of good meds running through my blood keeping me from crossing that final line between moody and depressed. I want to believe that there really are good people out there. I want to believe in friendship. I want to believe in love. But the pain and cynism keep getting in the way. I guess I should stop venting and whining. Thanks for listening.