I should probably introduce myself a bit.. I'm 32 years old, have a couple of degrees, working a job I really enjoy and that really takes care of me, living in a place I love. I own a Jeep that I love, a motorcycle that I love. I come home every day to a dog that loves me unconditionally and is always excited to see me. And every night, after dinner is done, the dog is fed and content, I sit down and have to talk myself out of ending my life. I know my story has enough detail to identify me pretty easily if anyone I know sees it, but a) I don't care, and b) I hope you'll grant me the false anonymity I need to make this step and reach out. I haven't been able to, to the people around me. There is this amazing disconnect in my life. By all rights, I shouldn't be here on this site like this. I honestly feel like I'm wasting other peoples time by even signing up. But I realize there is a problem. I know it isn't 'normal' that I feel this way. But I wonder if following my feelings is the right way to go for me. Last year I had a pretty terrible year for me. After 2 years suffering with pain in my face, leading the doctors to believe that I might have trigeminal neuralgia, thousands of pills, I was taking custom compounded 40-50mg hydrocodone pills, I had 4 root canals and a tooth removed. And finally, an MRI revealed a mass in my sinus cavity. I had it removed, and things were looking up. I weaned myself off of the pain meds, I had become addicted, but didn't want them anymore. Not long after, I realized that I wanted to die. There was no good reason for it, things were actually looking up. The pain was my gone, my wife had just finished her nursing degree and was going to work in the field she loved. We had two dogs, a house. A great life. Everyone always told us how perfect we were. But I couldn't shake this feeling. And eventually, I talked to my wife, and we decided that it was time I got some help. Long story short, we went to see my doctor, who sent us to the ER, who treated me terribly and finally got me to an inpatient facility. While in the hospital, I was diagnosed with Bipolar type II, and put on meds for it. For the short term, things seemed to be getting better. My mood was improving. I felt like the person I had been 10 years prior. The doc, satisfied that my problem was chemical in nature, released me back into the world. I started to see a counselor, who treated me like a 6 year old, using tired ridiculous and non-nonsensical metaphors to describe what living with bipolar was like, and soon grew tired of him. I found a new guy, that was much better, and saw him off and on until I moved. I liked him, and respected him, but I don't believe he helped me at all. Since my wife had started working, and we had more money coming in than ever before, we decided to buy me a motorcycle. I was so excited. She took care of everything. All I had to do was drive the 800 miles to the bike, pick it up and ride it home. I had a week long, 1200 mile trip planned out. I was going to visit friends, my in-laws, and old college roommate. All that ended 48 hours and ~600 miles from picking up the bike. In a left hand corner, at around 55 mph, I hit a patch of spilled diesel fuel and lost control of the motorcycle. I went down hard, broke my wrist, my toe, got thrown into the air and knocked unconscious. My bike was totaled, and I never saw it again. I had to have surgery to put a screw in to hold my wrist together so it would heal. Not long after that, I started to take a long hard look at my life. I realized that my wife and I were doing nothing but making each other miserable, and knew that the best thing I could do for both of us was move out. She and I talked about it, and decided together it was the best course of action. I don't regret the decision. I know she will be happier in the long term. I on the other hand, have been spiraling out of control since. I moved out, grew increasingly more out of control until finally I decided to quit my job and move across the country to a place I had always wanted to live, moved in with a girl I met over the internet, and started to build a life here. Looking back, I realize how insane this all was. On the plus side, I didn't think about killing myself at all during all of this. I was riding this strange irrational high. I covered 2700 miles in just under 48 hours, the first stretch being 27 hours straight. All I had was my jeep, my dog, and a trailer with the few possessions I didn't leave with my ex-wife. I should tell you, that being here is not the insane part, it was moving in with the new girl before my divorce was even close to final, and before I even had a chance to figure myself out. Now I have just recently moved out of the apartment I was sharing with her, and living on my own with my dog. She still comes over, because I am too weak to push her away. She treats me well most of the time, but is very controlling and I let it happen. I see it, but. She pays attention to me. I feel like she takes care of me. Even though I know this relationship is bad for me. The rational part of my brain looks at it and screams and tries to motivate me to run away. I had to call my mom. She flew across the country to give me the strength and the help to gather momentum. But I'm losing it. Wow, this is getting to be pretty long. I apologize for that. So that brings me to right now. I am sitting here at my computer, in my empty apartment (I only have a bed and a desk chair, the rest of my furniture is not here yet). I can't stop thinking about doing it. I've started drinking a little too heavily, last night I evidently put a snack in the oven, never turned it on, took the dog for a walk and put her leash in the dishwasher, all after I 'fell asleep'. I have no recollection of this. And that worries me. Right now, I've had a few. Sometimes it helps distract me. I'll pick up my guitar, and play poorly until I'm tired, then go pass out, wake up and start it all over again. I don't think I can keep doing this. I don't know how to reach out. I don't have any real friends here. All my friends are almost 3000 miles away. I feel completely alone. Isolated. Worthless. And yet, I feel like I should just slap the stupid right out of me because my life, from the outside, is going really well. If you made it this far, I appreciate it. I hope maybe someone can hit me with the perspective bat that will make this all make sense. I'm in the process of putting my affairs in order, writing a will, changing all of my beneficiary information to my ex-wife, I harbor so much guilt for hurting her, and for wasting so much of her life, that it's the least I can do if something should happen. Methods are easy to come by. I'm trying to stay strong and stay here. But I'm losing the battle, and I know it.