sometimes I get so close to doing it. to ending it. I get so close to the point it drives me crazy and everything around me and inside of me is rushing like some kind of blurry, hazy dream and I can’t remember anything lovely anymore. it’s like everything becomes another push into that sweaty, shaking shock in those same small seconds and I have to find some kind of tired courage in me to stay. to shut the earthquaking feeling down and somehow just be calm and be put together all over again. but in reality, I am so G******* messy. and I am everything, too much at once. always spilling, sputtering, chirping, squeaking. and then I am nothing, too still and too quiet for even myself to sit with and that leaves people sick, and when something becomes too much for someone, they forget about it. they forget about me, who has to live in this unforgiveable suffering, they forget that at the end of everything, that at the end of being left behind, at the end of those too familiar goodbyes, I am still here, and I am so f****** tired of being here. in this body, in this suffering, in this feeling. I am so tired.