Ugh.
Despite the aforementioned homesickness, I had managed to get through the past three weeks in this strange land without the slightest smidgen of depression or bad thoughts. That is until a couple of minutes ago. Thinking about where I’m going to live and how on Earth I’m going to make a decent wage once I get home turned out to be some pretty heavy stuff, and in the absence of any kind of real answer to the problem, the idea of ending my life popped up it’s ugly head again.
For a second the crazy part of my brain even tried to justify it with all manner of stupid reasons. Note that I 'the crazy part of my brain'. That means that I know that suicide is a stupid thing to do, and(as I’ve also said before) I could never do that to the people who know me.
Still, it’s sobering to realise that even though I’m using this trip to close the (mostly unhappy) previous chapter of my life, my brain chemistry insists on trying to get me to stick with the victim-patterns of old.
Now I'm going to go to sleep and wake up smiling. I've decided.