And I’ll go to work, and I’ll go to sleep, and all of the littler things…

April 28th, 2018by Triste Foi

A year ago I was convinced I was getting better, that I would never be back to write my pain… It lasted quite a while, enough to trick me into genuinely believing it. The sad truth is that I won’t be able to have the hope I thought I had. Perhaps without a really good year I would have been better off, I would have never envisioned a future with happiness for myself – and now that makes it harder for me to feel this way.
I wish I hadn’t failed last year I wish I was dead I feel so incurably sad and pathetic and sensitive and awful. I want to be done I want to be gone I want to be forgotten except now it’s too late now I can’t die for a while

“I’m tired of wanting more, I’m finally feeling worn”

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