47 days

47 days

I want to write. I’m struggling tonight. I want to get the feelings out. But what happens when those feelings are so muddled and intertwined that you can’t get them out? That you can’t even figure out what you are feeling. You don’t know where to start… only that you are hurting. Deeply.

I’m alone. I know that. I know that people won’t notice if I’m not here. People won’t care. The world would go on the same without me. S would go to school. W the sitters. E would do what he needs to do. According to him I’m not needed. The people at work wouldn’t notice. They’d probably be happy that I’m not there. Anyone else would be better off without me.

If I’m not needed, and living is so painful, what’s the point of going on? Why keep trying? Why fight the feelings that tear me apart? They aren’t going away. I’m not going to get better. All I know is that I’d much rather be dead than alive.

I’m tired of crying. I’m tired of fighting. I’m tired of telling myself tomorrow is a new day just to find out that tomorrow sucks just as much as yesterday.

I want someone to hold me while I cry. I want someone to tell me that I matter to them. I want to be open minded enough to trust if they tell me that, that they mean it.

I’m tired of just barely getting through the day. I want this to end. I have no faith that I could actually kill myself without failing at that too. But status quo isn’t working. Something’s got to change. Something’s got to give.

I don’t know who to turn to. I wish I could talk to someone who won’t just automatically convince me that living is the best thing because that is what society thinks the answer is supposed to be. I wish I could talk to someone who will help me rationalize the decision to stay alive (or not). Who will talk me through it, with the understanding that the answer may not come up with me living. Someone that isn’t afraid to let me go. Someone, who if the answer comes up with me not living, won’t let me die alone.

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