i keep wondering when i'll get better, you know? i don't even know what to expect from recovery anymore. it's like nobody believes how sad you are till you try to kill yourself. it's funny how death is the only thing that gets people thinking. i mean, you ask to be sent to a psych ward or be given pills, but no. there's a waiting list, a fucking waiting list, or somehow you don't quite 'meet the criteria to have pills'. but wow, oh gee wow, when you try to fucking kill yourself, suddenly a spot opens up in the psych ward and you HAVE you take pills.
not even making suicide plans will get you proper fucking help. i don't want a therapist. how does it help to talk about what's going on in my stupid fucking head? hearing it out loud just makes it worse for christ sake. fuck i hate this, i hate this so much.
i don't know what to say or what to write. i'm getting really fucking sick, like really sick. it's like all of these months trying to make myself better are going to shit. it's like time is re-winding and i'm going back to feeling how i did last year and nobody cares. i'm okay with that though, if nobody cares then i don't have to care. not caring was what got me into this shit hole, so not caring can get me out. right?
like i said, nobody cares till you die. so dying is what i plan to do
YOU ARE READING
emotionally
No Ficciónbasically a book where i write down how i'm feeling, throw in some really shitty poetry here and there and maybe a few songs for the hell of it. [ trigger warning ]
