There's one phrase that has been at the tip of my tongue everyday now.
One phrase that's been bugging me and eating my insides,
Digesting it's contents and then spitting out, making a cool drink only to down that too.
A phrase that has been painting me black and blue,
Numbing my insides too.
Squeezing the air from my lungs.
Torturing me.
"I'm sorry."
That's all I want to say right now.
That's all I want to say each day.
Each day that I wake up, each day that I fall asleep.
Each morning we're talking, each time you're ignoring me.
Whenever you're near, and whenever you're far.
All that's on my mind,
Is, "Honey, I'm sorry."
I am sorry.
I'm sorry.
And I am.
I just don't accept any reason to live anymore and it's not my fault.
I can't talk to someone without feeling bad, I can't talk without thinking everyone has worse problems than I do.
You show yours, quite often, don't you?
And I don't mean to sound so conceited or self centered, but my problems are really just worse than yours are.
Do you see how you're surviving right now?
Well I'm not.
I'm just barely hanging on...
and you don't even know.
Your problems are manageable.
Mine? Not so much anymore.
The problem is not my depression.
Anxiety.
Or whatever mental instability I might harbour.
My problem is that I want to die.
I do want to die.
You don't want to live.
But I want to die.
Can you somehow tell the difference?
Or maybe when I'm dead will it make much more sense?
I'm sorry, really, I truly am.
But I'm tired.
And I'm dead.
So now all that's left is for me to die.
And I'm sorry.
(February 16, 2018)
