Yeah. My shrink is right. I mentally shut down and waited for the sweet release of death. I figured that once I was dead, it wouldn't matter how long I lived. When it felt like I couldn't stand another day, I just did anyways. Because once I was dead it wouldn't matter. Once I was dwad I would still be dead. If I waited another day, or another year, it wouldn't matter.
First there was the kids. Back then it was my boyfriend's kids, now they're my best friend's kids. I stayed alive for them.
(I still do.)
Then there was J. He begged me to stay alive. And M. I was the maid at her wedding. I couldn't ruin her wedding.
Then there was nothing at all for a while, just some formalities. I wanted to be drunk when I did it so I waited for my student loans to come in. But when they did I had fallen in love with someone and then that person was my reason for a while. I went to live with him for a couple of months, in America. After that everything went really bad and six months later I had no more reasons, and I committed myself, and it didn't really help. Chaos kept ruling and I was so tired.
I isolated myself, shut down, waited for old age to take me. Struggled sometimes, decided to do it but went to bed instead. It was summer and I didn't really want to do it in the summer, too many people out and about at all times. I shut down more. Figured that if I isolated myself further it would be even better. The less people who are close to me the less people who really experience my absence.
Being sad and feeling guilty is natural, missing someone, but if I play an important part in someone's life then they won't only miss me, they'll be constantly reminded of my absence. So the more I keep to myself the less I'll hurt people when I die. I removed myself from my life without dying.
So yes. I did kill myself, I guess. Socially. I moved so many times. I stopped being interested in reality.