compelling

yes, compelling. I logged in today longing to write something compelling. It's a word in my head that makes me think of something that I'm drawn to do. But it actually means forced. Is the Universe forcing me to write? Maybe. Yesterday I read a few articles on suicide. I was compelled to do that. My search lead me to a website by a man called the jellyfish man. He claims to have died and gone to heaven and hell and come back to tell us about it. I read his story hoping to find some hope.... some life changing message. I didn't find it.
I read about how some people tried to commit suicide and as they committed the act they snapped out of their dark way of thinking and emerged (upon survival) as a new person. I'd rather not have to take that "leap" to emerge as a new person.
I know the only reason why I don't do it now is because I don't want my husband to find me. He's such a fragile person. He wouldn't be able to ever recover. If I were to die I would want him to recover and move on. Yes, he's lazy but he's a good person. I do know that is true.
Yesterday I remembered a few years ago I resolved to live my life like there is no tomorrow. To enjoy every moment. And it allowed me to think outside the norm and take steps to do things I wouldn't have normally done because I was so afraid of failing. Now, I find my exotic life a normal routine. I sometimes wish I could return back to the little box I lived in. In some ways I find it suffocating and some ways I find it safe. But in all ways I find myself in the same state of mind... life is still not good enough. When will it ever be? I will continually have to fight for my sanity. Continually have to fight depression and anxiety. It exhausts me.
I'm still running from those things. I hide from them by emerging myself in work. I am just now getting over a sinus infection I had for two weeks. It overtook me while I was taking a vacation from my Admin job. I was taking time off so I could get other stuff done. But I ended up so sick I could barely walk without exhausting myself. After two weeks I went to the Dr. and they gave me 10 days worth of anti-biotics and they told me I had a heart murmur because I had the infection for so long. I've been on the anti-biotics for a week and I am still not completely better. I hate that my body failed me. It should be able to keep up with my mind. I wish it would.
I'm still in search of my happiness. I lost my touch with the Universe. I had it for a little while and it was good too me. My chaotic brain doesn't help me stay focused. It's a battle every day to keep above the dark murk that I tread.

I wonder how much I'm going to fuck up my life living on the edge like this? And I wonder when the turning point will be that gives me the courage to end it all.