I want to die: this is something I've felt for twenty years, which started when a girl with questionable morality slammed the door in my face. But we can still be friends, right?
It is torturous to keep the question open. I've had to make lots of concessions since I was gaily painting my house six months ago. A job can be a healthy focus. Having one has been totally necessary to me to keep me from starting way out projects. But it also brought me back to solutions which I was struggling to find when I first began to start way out projects.
Solutions no longer useful to me. But much more precious than a feather in the cap. And when I look at it that way I think, why did I just say I'm suicidal?
And why did I doubt a girl's morals?