The rain falls. I hear it, dimly sense the pitter-patter precipitation on my body. Slowly, steadily, my body gets colder, and I start to shiver.

I wonder how much more I’ll lose.


Living is sacrifice.

Living, breathing, eating, being, it’s all sacrifice. Giving up one thing to continue surviving. Giving up a happiness, or an ideal, or a dream, all in the pursuit of one more day.

The feeling of metal, the sensation of cold steel.

I had a chance to kill myself.

I had a chance to die, and I didn’t take it.

I could have driven off a cliff, could have put the barrel to my temple and pulled the trigger, I could have drowned in broad daylight. I could have died. I could have killed myself. I didn’t.

It’s not out of some misguided sense of stability. The body is maddeningly resistant to self-inflicted injuries, after all.

I’m so tired.

I’m tired, I’m tired, I’m tired. I wish it would all just end, honestly, but I keep living, and I don’t know, but I’m starting to feel deja vu happen every time I find myself sitting next to a therapist, or waking up under the temporary warmth of bed covers. The same, boring, unskippable tutorial cutscene, that song you heard played over and over again in store aisles and car radios.

It’s all the same.

It’s all bullshit.

The past year I’d done a lot of soul searching, made a lot of concessions, tried really hard, and I just feel so tired now. Exhausted. The medication, the medication that’s supposed to be making me feel energetic, that’s supposed to be helping this drowsiness, only serves to exhaust me instead. I feel wiser, and I feel tired.

Sense. Sensation. Feeling. Taste. Smell. What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it that makes it feel so distant? So far away from where I am?

What am I going to do now? What am I going to do with me? What do I want to do? Where am I going to go?

I never wanted to depend on other people because I knew –

I knew they weren’t dependable.

So, just learn to depend on myself, and make myself into the most dependable person I know. That way, if I’m let down, it’d be my fault.

But I’ve always been let down, and I’ve always let myself down.







It’s suffocating.

It’s painful to live on Earth.

Why do I exist? I ask not to be answered about my existence, but to be answered for all of the pain and hurt I’ve endured.
















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