Well, This was Unexpected

It's the night before my birthday. Twenty-second, if anyone's interested.
It's causing... major depression... and suicidal thoughts. Including plans and intent. I just.. I never planned - when I was in my early teens, I made myself a promise that I wouldn't live to nineteen. When I did, however, make it to nineteen, that old promise wasn't on my mind. I celebrated by going out with my grandparents, and later going for drinks with a friend. I had reasons to live. I had a life I felt was worth living. Sure, I was working part-time at a pizza place and I'd dropped out of high school, but I had my boyfriend. I had - still have - this great love, this wonderful, beautiful man who loved me for every good, bad, and `somewhere in between` thing that makes me up.
Well, as time went on, my mental health got worse, and I`ve said before that I got to a point at which I was attempting several times. I did almost everything I could to succeed. My boyfriend had other plans. He has physically restrained me multiple times, stripped me down in an instant and thrown me into the coldest possible shower - dive reflex - taken me and stayed with me in emergency psych, everything. He did his homework on every of my diagnoses, and he loves me harder than I deserve. He`s why I`m alive. Cheesy, I know, but when you think you have no reason to live, any motivation is good motivation.. and I think in time, eventually, I`ll be recovering for myself.
My twentieth and twenty-first birthdays weren`t upsetting. They were nice. Drinking with friends, having a casual gathering of safe people.
This year, for some reason, it`s different. I don`t know if it`s because my mental health just still isn`t getting better, or maybe is getting worse, but the idea of having lived one more year in this consciousness is repellent, abhorrent, terrifying to me.
Like I said before, the notion of dying at twenty-seven is ... intruiging - five more years.. I think I might be able to manage five more years. More intruiging is dying on my birthday.. better still, dying the night before.
I'm working so, so hard, just to stay. To think of reasons why.
I have my boyfriend.. and he loves me, or at least makes a very convincing falsehood. He's told me he would be (his words) a wreck if I died. If I killed myself.
I have small events and things coming up I'm excited about. I'm seeing one of my favorite bands with one of my best friends on the 24th. I'm doing well in school. I'm finally able to start the therapy I've been waiting a year and a half for. I'm reconciling with my mother - tomorrow, we're supposed to go get our nails done together and catch up. My boyfriend spent money he didn't have on a present for me.. and as much as I feel guilty that he spent money on me, I love presents. Little celebrations help me get though things.
What's huge right now is therapy. I just today had my first appointment with my new DBT therapist. She's lovely, an older white woman who seems... relatable.. like I can, eventually, be open with. I'll get to start group therapy in about a month. I know DBT works for me, and this program is a million times more intensive than the one I did in 2013... so that's a reason to stick around. Why not wait a couple of months, see if therapy helps or even does anything? It's worth a shot, right? Maybe I'll even start to get better, or make progress. I want to learn how to cope, and I want to live forever with my boyfriend. Logically, it's easy to see that I shouldn't attempt. I have love in my life, supports in place, goals - I want to get my high school diploma, go to journalism school, and be a published writer/poet. In that order. Those are things I want out of life. I want to be published, and I want a horse. I'm trying my best to focus on things that could happen in the future that would be good enough to make me hold on. Graduating high school. Applying to colleges and universities, and getting an acceptance letter. Maybe even getting married - that 'maybe' was brought to you by commitmentphobia. Buying my first horse. Traveling. Seeing more than this section of the world. Writing for sources I love - Jezebel, Feministing, Bitch Media. Writing poems I'm proud enough of to try to get published, and actually getting published.
Right now, I'm trying to keep myself safe. I've confined myself to the living room - I brought water, snacks, the stuffed Hello Kitty my boyfriend got me (that's really just comforting), I have Netflix, Animal Crossing and Pokemon, music, I have my journal and my poetry notebook, I have a number to call if things start getting out of hand... I'm doing all that I can to make it through the night.
That's all I can do. Go day by day.
But that sickly sweet desire is smelling stronger.