"Are you okay?" ...What the hell is that?
What kind of stupid question is that?
No, I’m not okay.
My situation is completely fucked.
Music doesn't calm me down anymore.
I can't sleep anymore.
Writing doesn't help me make sense of my thoughts anymore.
I’m not speaking, but my brain is screaming.
But if you found out things were a total disaster, what the hell could you actually do about it?
You just make me hate talking to people even more.
When I used to see someone wanting to kill themselves in movies or books, I’d just laugh and think, What an idiot. There are so many other things they could do. Why would they choose to die like some kind of loser?
If something was taken from you, just take it back.
You don’t have to destroy yourself, idiot.
And yet… maybe I can understand it now.
Maybe they were just tired.
Exhaustion is a terrifying thing. And death can start to feel like a sweet gift—the kind of death where, afterward, I almost hope there isn’t another world waiting on the other side.
It sounds so tempting.
But for now, my family matters more to me than I do.
Otherwise, I’m tired too.
So fucking tired that nothing makes me feel better anymore.
I’m sick of the passing of time.
Life, people, thinking… all of it makes me feel nauseous.
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