I had the mother of anxiety attacks today. Of course, I've been exhausted ever since. I feel like words such as "depression" and "anxiety" are used so often, the only people I have to turn to sort of tune it out when I bring it up. I've also gotten to a point where I no longer wish to talk about it. It used to be like a band-aid; it would make me feel a little better temporarily, but the pain always came back. I'm tired, both emotionally and physically. I wish I could fall asleep and not wake up the next day. I reached out for help. I've gone through several doctors. They either don't seem to care, or their methods don't help me. It's tiresome. If I didn't have a son, I would end it tonight. I love him too much to every do that to him, at least as long as I have a sound mind, and that's something I worry about as well.