It could be the shove I need. Fixating on the possibility of death. Easier than taking the necessary steps to feel better.
I want a baby and my gutless approach to making it happen has dropped me head first into a rut. Feelings of loyalty towards a man grieving for a son he still has and a love he’s lost. And me, my feelings, I’ve put them to the back of the queue. I’ve put me last. I don’t believe I’m good enough for a different life. For a better life!
To die would be to escape the problem.
To die would be an extreme full stop at a life that still has things to do.
It would be a stupid unforgivable decision born from fear. The idea can only be seen as a diagnostic. It can only be a catalyst to change.
No! No death will come from this!