Gloomy Sunday
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- Votes 1
- Parts 1
Ongoing<5 mins
Last published Sat, Apr 25, 2020
A Boy lives his adulthood with anxiety and depression and can't find anyone who understands him or respect his decisions and support his goals.Here is the boy sitting on his bed during Thunderous Sunday night writing in his diary what he feels from pain and frustration.
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"There comes a point where you no longer care if there's a light at the end of the tunnel or not. You're just sick of the tunnel." - Who I am doesn't matter. How I got here doesn't matter. What matters now is I'm getting help, right? That's what they tell me here. They tell me that the road to recovery feels like a terrible butt fuck, but the fact that you're on the path to begin with, is all that matters. So as I sit in this circle of fuck ups, I realize just how different I am from them. I didn't attempt suicide because my mother was a crack addict who didn't want me. My father wasn't abusive. I didn't have a sibling die in a car accident. I was never really bullied either. I attempted suicide because, for the first time in years, I thought I had found something that could make me feel again... and after not feeling much at all for far too long, perhaps I went a bit overboard
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