And in the evenings…

I am run over by heavy despair, leaving me bleeding out on the ground. I’m licking and prodding at gaping and festering sores sketched out like maps on different areas of the skin that stretches over my life’s body. They always lay there —waiting till I can pick at the scabs and re-infect them, never allowing them to dry up and heal. And that is the sad and painful analogy to describe my pitiful “soirées”. And then, catch me a week before my period too, and I’m tired and conjuring up ways to take myself out of this world.

I just need for it to get easier. For my brain to be quiet and not bother me. I’m so exhausted. I’m tired of living.

I recently saw a poem about postponing suicide on twitter because you have stuff you’re looking forward to. Stuff that might make you feel a little better like maybe you have to hang out with your friends next Saturday, or how your loved ones would have to bear with the pain of losing you. That poem described exactly how I’ve been feeling for as long as I can remember. I keep thinking to myself how much longer can I postpone this till I finally get the courage to do it and get it over with. It’s so painful.

But I’m too much of a coward to do it. That’s why I stayed around for so long🙂‍↔️.

I even have a eulogy safely tucked —not that I’d read it out at my funeral😂 but it’s just to imagine what others would say. It’s from another person’s perspective but it’s oh so cruel that I don’t think anyone else would say such words about me —at my funeral at least.

I’m sorry for being such a bother but maybe it’ll get better. Hoping and hoping and wishing for these thoughts to go away.