Happy birthday, papa

Sometimes, very suddenly, I just feel like there's no meaning to anything. Like everything and everyone is less than dust and I can just drop them all without feeling anything more than an ant bite. I'm so tired. My mum, my best friends, my favourite game, none of these can help me move on. Every year feels like a speedy blur, until October, then November, and last but not least the worst of them all — December. These 3 months of slow, sharp pain and it's like everything I've been doing, everyone I've been spending time with, were just distractions. And this is the part where no one can help me. Am I suicidal? I don't know. I don't think I am. I've always known that I don't have enough courage to kill myself. If I could choose a way to go, I've already decided I want a bullet to my head from behind, execution style. Totally off-guard. I don't have the balls to see my own death coming. That said I guess it's safe to say that I'm not suicidal. I just feel dead inside. Like October to December is a flatline in my life.

This is so difficult for me. It's not like I can tell people that I think of dying a lot without sounding like a whiny sob looking for attention. But I'm really really struggling here and I just don't know how many more years of these 3 months I can go through.