Hey, so i’m here sitting on my chair… barely moved all day, I smell, I’m hungry but i don’t want to eat. I don’t deserve that. Food. Life. I am sitting here imagining grabbing the blade from my room, or a knife. yes a knife would cut better. Cuttung my veins, letting my blood spurt around me. I know what i’d think then. “Finally, this is it” then a breathe of relief and nothingness. Such a heavy feeling, hard to move. Hard to think Of anything but that. The end.
It’s been a while since i thought about suicide, last time i attempted a few different ways and it became more about self harm than death. Now i am stressed and feeling those emotions returning. I guess what I want to say is holy goodness fuck tthis is hard to fight. Like beating a wet sack thats lodged inside me. mmk yep