Who Likes mondays?

not me, that's for sure. So hard to get out of bed this morning. Hard to get to sleep, too. Since I am now the sole (human) occupant of the bed. I moved over to the middle last night. The reasoning was simple- if I stay on "my" side of the bed, one dog snuggles against me and is all happy; but the other one gets whiny or sits there looking at me and making weird groaning sounds when i try to go to sleep. SO I moved over to the middle and ended up with one dog on either side. Nice in theory, in practice- pretty crappy. Got too warm pretty quickly and sleeping dogs are like big bags of sand-- as soon as you shift over, they fill up the space, so it was like being too hot and slowly, gently crushed between two furry, farting sandbags. My life is glamorous.
I hate coming home at the end of the day. It is such a lonely prospect. I love my dogs-- i do. But i feel bad because I truly dread coming home. Often, they can cheer me up a bit for a minute after I get home and let them out then let them back in and let them crawl all over me. But; dogs cannot fill the large cavity that seems to be engulfing my heart and my life right now.
I struggle to banish self-destructive thoughts these days. It works sometimes. I still have thoughts of suicide more than I wish I would. Not necessarily strong impulses; but more subtle and casual thoughts about it. The dogs and all my (stupid) material possessions help a bit with fighting them back.
I have responsibilities and who would take care of my dogs before I was found?? (maybe they would get hungry and start to eat me like some of those horrible stories you hear about-- I would not wish for anyone to have to find that) and who would have to deal with all my stuff?? The house is not a wreck, but all this stuff is not something I would feel OK about foisting on someone. That's not to mention the knowledge of the pain it would cause. Since A left I have found out I have more friends than I thought- that more people care than I figured. I really would not want them and my family to have to live with the emotional echoes of my suicide in their hearts and minds. So, for now, I guess I feel somewhat safe in the knowledge that I am a little bit too considerate to kill myself. Having a dirty house stopped me once before a long time ago when I think I was closer than I am today.
I am reasonably certain that when all this started to happen, that my mom and A thought there was a good chance that the next time they saw me would be in a box. That is one things that hurts bad about A leaving-- she knew that was a strong possibility or likelihood (nothing I had threatened or anything-- that's a heavy and foolish card to play) of that and felt bad enough about things that she had to go anyway and was (maybe) willing to take that chance.
Shortly before she left she had a dream that I had died or something and said she saw my face all battered and bloody and was crying for hours about it., almost inconsolably.
I made a pact with my friend BB when we were young -- I was about 17 and she was 16-- that we would die before the age of 40. She died in a car wreck 6 months later. I lived up until my 40th birthday (oh God was that ONLY 3 MONTHS AGO?!?!) convinced I would not see 40. I did and in my heart I apologized to BB. Sometimes, now, I feel like this would all be better if I had died before I hit 40.
Cheerful post today.

I have this fear that some of the friends and people who reached out to me initially may stop (some have already as far as I can tell) ... maybe they don't know the whole story about me and my issues and struggles , maybe they feel I should be on the "road to recovery" by now? I don't know. I am fucked up, and lonely, and scared, and really feel alone . Nothing brings me joy these days, there are short, momentary reprieves.. but then I have to come home or be home alone. This is killing me. Killing. Me.