I just kinda live
I’m writing this with a pain in my chest and a cold that I can’t seem to shake off for over a few days. Or weeks. I have lost count already. But it doesn’t matter. Because I don’t want to die anymore, like I used to. When I say I wanted to die, I didn’t mean like the jumped-off-the-building or cut-my-wrist kinds of death. I just wanted to disappear. I wanted to stop having these feelings, but I didn’t really want my life to end. Does that make any sense to you? It’s okay if it doesn’t. Because I’m used to that. I’m used to people not getting how much everything hurts. How suffocating it is when you’re drowning in your own thoughts and all people say is “you should learn how to swim.” How scary when you’re on your own and it’s always you versus the world and sometimes you versus yourself. Even now, it still hurts. Even though I’m struggling to look like I’m not sick when all I wanted to do was lie down on my bed all day, I think I’m going to be okay. And by okay, I mean crying my heart ...
