I'm still here. I don't know if I really want to be here.
Every morning I make the choice to get up and go to work like a real person. I don't feel like a real person. I'm empty. A shell that looks and moves and sounds like a person.
Hopelessness burns like fire on my soul.
In this moment and the next and the next I am fine.
Only when I let the future in does the emptiness try to consume me.
What am I living for? What is my purpose? Why don't I just give up?
I want to stop living.
I want peace in my soul.
I want quiet in my mind.
I want a respite from this endless fight to be.
I'm tired of fighting myself. I'm tired of everything.
Why can't I just lie down?
Why don't I just end it?
Why do I keep pretending everything is all right when my world is crumbling burning falling drowning bleeding into nothingness?
Because I don't know how to do anything else.
I've told you a thousand times in my head these things.
And a thousand times you've said nothing back. Not even in my dreams.
How could you when I will never tell you these things?
I'm afraid to die without telling you.
I'm more afraid that once I tell you I won't be afraid to die.
This is not a suicide note. This is merely a brief snapshot of my state of mind. I will return with happier or at least less depressing posts.
This Week's Calogrenant
2 months ago