Struggling with Suicidal Thoughts and Medication

Trigger warning: self harm, suicidal ideation; please please skip this if that might hurt you — I’m not sure what to say right now. I’m not sure what to say anymore at all. I think my time is running out. Like I physically feel it running down. I started medication, quit cold turkey because that’s what they say to do when it gives you suicidal thoughts. I’m not a fearful person but right now, in the moments I find myself present in my own mind (which isn’t often), I’m so scared. I’m terrified. My home, my body, my own mind aren’t my own anymore. First the trauma, then the medication took them from me. I literally look in the mirror and see someone else in my reflection and I don’t know who it is. I’m so tired. I’m so so tired. The intrusive thoughts and the nightmares and the plans and the ideas are all so much and I can’t carry it alone, but I can’t tell anyone. How do you tell people you want to die without coming across like you just want attention? Who could you go to? What do I do? I want to die so bad I want to die. Im fading away - fading isn’t the right word. Pieces of me are ripping away little by little and I can’t even begin to control it anymore. My arms are spiderwebs of red marks, im hungry every day, my mind is empty and my smiles are fake and im late to work more and more and my mind whispers ways to die while my search history is filled with what the effects of overdosing on certain drugs are. I took weed edibles not because I thought it would be fun but because I hoped it would react badly with my medication and i wouldn’t be here anymore. And it’s not even that hard to hide it from anyone. I stress out about keeping my sleeves down at work but I’ve had coworkers seen me in the moments I take my jacket off to tie my apron and no one sees the cobweb of markings striking my skin and no one cares and no one understands when I say I don’t know where I’m safe anymore. I don’t feel anything - not even right now, writing all this. God- writing. I can’t write anymore or else my final wishes will spill out and then I won’t have an excuse to stay here. I keep having nightmares about writing my suicide note and the one thing keeping me going is the idea that I can’t leave without saying goodbye. I don’t even believe in suicide. I don’t. My favorite book is It’s Kind of a Funny Story by Ned Vizzini where he writes that suicide isn’t the answer to your problems, and the book Thirteen Reasons Why where the message is explicitly that suicide is a stupid and selfish mistake and shows that you’re not the one who deals with the consequences of that choice. I know it’s wrong. And that’s the worst part. I don’t want to die. I have no reason to leave. I have a family who loves me and I’m going to college and literally having tuition paid for by Starbucks to do so. I have plans; I want a family and to raise a child, I want to pursue a career in entomology and I want to write a novel. But those plans feel like nothing now. How do my biggest dreams and important ideals feel like nothing? I’m not myself anymore. I’m not here anymore. I feel like I’m walking in a dream and the only way to wake up is to end it. Will it be better when I’m gone? How do I wake up? I can’t do this. I feel like what little control I have left is slipping. I’m so scared. I’m not okay. I don’t know what to do except to keep trying to push through but I don’t think I can anymore. They put me on new medication today and that will either shatter what’s left of me or try to put it back together, but either way it’s pathetic. I was doing so good. I’m terrified of what’s next.