I've gotten to a place where I feel like life may be meaningful if I could just figure out how to make it so. That is, it's my responsibility to put meaning into my life and doing so is possible. The last part of that statement I would not have endorsed a few months ago, and even now I waver back & forth.

I feel like I am on the verge of figuring this out, but every time I get too close, my train of thought goes off in a very bizarre direction, like intrusive thoughts about suicide or ideas that Bad People are coming for me. I want to get a hand gun and I know it would be to use on myself when the impulse strikes me. I've even had dreams about this and have a mental image of "my" gun down to what model it is.

It's like my state can be summed up by two Modest Mouse refrains: "you wasted life, why wouldn't you waste death," and "I'm trying to drink away the part of the day I cannot sleep away." The more I think about it from a personal perspective, the more I just want to end it and disappear, but from a moral perspective this would be selfish and stupid. Unfortunately I am much less skilled in figuring out what I should do than I am in perceiving what would be the wrong thing. Most of my sins are sins of omission, but at least I'm facing it and trying to work it out. It's either that or let the self destruct impulse take over. Still ambivalent.