Typically people who truly want to live see the next day even in the middle of a previous afternoon. But I'm stuck between the idealization of suicide, and the fear that pushes me to live.
I reflect on my life, letting my regrets linger. My whole thought process is one big apology. When I let myself wallow because the boulders of depression tumble over my ribs, all my laments strike me with the clock ticking to twelve.
I can't even write properly. Little makes sense to me. I try to talk about my contract with the hand that binds me so, how it's only voidable when my idealizations are clouded by the moments the sun shines on me.
I don't want to see the next day, yet I wake up expecting something to happen to myself. Sometimes I wish people could read my vents and somehow still look me in the eyes they way they usually do. I hope they know that I learn to love and hate too easily than I should. I hope they know that my heart is weak for certain people, that when they're out the door and back I act like the furniture we pushed was never redecorated.
I hope they know how constantly sorry I am. When my head is empty and filled with the thoughts that keeps dry tears brimming at my eyelids, I hope they know that my soul is always in a state of apologetics.
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Y'all just ever stuck between suicide and wanting to live? But still suffering from overthinking? Because, yeah, me too.
