Tell everyone I’m dead

I don’t want to go back to work. I want to quit and just lock up in my room, hide under the bed, never open up for anybody. Tell everyone I’m dead because I am, I am, I am!

My mother keeps getting mad because I have turned into this apathetic stranger who won’t talk to her, won’t even say a single word in the house. But inside my head, I am as noisy as a train without a fucking destination.

And I can’t stop thinking about death. Even the smell of rain reminds me of it. We’re all dying, people. We’re all fucking dying. Tell me what’s the sense of living at all?!