well yr fuhkd.

years on this bitter, sour soil has taught me x amount of useless information.
1). Some hugs feel like thorns.

2). Most breaths are filled with poison.

It’s a pretty shitty thing to think about the way you want to die, and the need to die and the awful way you joke about it to yr friends, making it seem like a fuhkd up joke but in reality you’re asking for help. They know you’re sick. You know you’re sick. Your therapist knows your sick. Also, do your parents. But no matter how much you fight it seems static and thick. It stays. Unmoving. Instead of getting better I’m getting worse. I only take the pills because they let me get shit done. It doesn’t mean at the end of the day I’m happy.
Fuck.
It went from no thoughts to having thoughts about killing myself almost every fucking day.

I have no reason. That’s honestly the worst part.

I can’t explain why I’m fucked up and I can’t explain why I just want to end my shitty existence in a slow painful way. I’m just-

I’m tired, I guess. Of feeling static; nothing? I’ve attempted, but ultimately backed away in fear of what it holds in store. I’ve had someone in my life take their life away. I wasn’t close to them at all but it shocked me. It carried on with me. I think back to hearing that news and thinking to my younger self, “Fuck. That’s… A lot.” It doesn’t make sense mostly because I had no real words to explain what I felt. It was complex- terrifying. I’m scared to take my life it it hurts others. I’m scared. I shouldn’t be. But I am. So fucking scared.

-g