m,my feet aren't my own anymore

I have started to test myself.
How far can I go without committing suicide?
I take showers, long showers. I curl up in the bottom of the bathtub and let the water pool around me. My body creates a barrier. The water slowly rises, filling one ear, distorting the sound of water hitting water; porcelain tapping out rhythm. I get lost in the drumming. It sounds like music, like something someone in Providence would play. Noise. Beauty.
I open my eyes and see a world divided. One arm under water, one arm above. One eye under water, one eye above. Half blurry, half clear. Water rises.

How far can I go?

Water begins to pour into one nostril. I wait as long as I can. I deal with the discomfort, that swimming-pool memory of diving underwater with nothing to hold my nose closed. I think, "maybe tonight is the night I can relax enough to die." I think, "I bet if I got high enough, I could do this and not care about drowning. I would like it. It would just be another sensation to notice."
The water is comforting. The stillness of my body reminds me of ten years ago. It feels like I am giving myself up to the inevitable. I can finally stop fighting. I won't have to worry about anything else. I can be in gentle darkness, soothing, caressing, blind and weightless. It would be home.

Instead, I sit up. I let the water drain. I get on my knees and touch my forehead to the bathtub. I let the death wash off of me. I get up. I turn off. I get out.

And I wonder who knows about my disease? Who knows I'm suicidal? I've only told my therapist. I said I could keep myself safe. It gets harder and harder each time, but I won't stop doing it. I love the sense of peace I get when the water starts to take me. I love the warmth. I love the sound. I love the feeling.

Who reads this and says nothing? If the roles were reversed, what would I say? This is too big for any one person. This is just me, and mine, and what can I do to deal with it?
I keep going. I keep living. I struggle to stay on top of things. Sometimes I succeed. What else can I do? I'm in therapy. I take medication. What more can I do but commit myself to a mental institution? I still remember how that was ten years ago. I don't want to go back yet.
I think I'll end up there eventually, but I can't go back yet.
I'd have to get so much worse before it would be worth it.