There's no out here. There's no magical pill to fix it all and still be alive. There's no fix to this. I'm forcing myself to not move right now, because if I did, it would be the last time I got off this couch. It would be my last night, and I'm not sure i'd mind that.
But instead of disrupting people lives, I'll write to keep my hands busy, and still let my mind wander.
I keep holding my breath, and I'm not sure why. Maybe it's to try to end it any way possible. Or, maybe I'm trying to make it look natural, so the kids won't have to face the fact I'm fucked up. Or maybe it's just the fact that I don't care about breathing anymore. People say life is worth it, but they only see life from their perspective. They can't see mine, and feel what I feel. And I don't mean the day to day sadness, I mean the world stopping constant pain that I've had to get used to and tolerate so I don't completely handicap my family's life. Or the gut wrenching, out of breath feeling of hating everything about yourself, and just wanting it all to stop. Or the constant need to feel numb because it's the only escape, because sleep isn't even a way out anymore. It's invaded my dreams, and turned them into nightmares. The rainbows turned to fire, and the animals turned into demons. And the most sick part about it, the demons all look like me. It's just my brain showing me how horrible every part of me is. And how those parts of me want to be pulled out of this hellhole, even if I'm dragged into another one. Because even if god was real, and if hell was real and I was dragged there, at least I'd finally be out.
