I Can't Form So Much As A Tear

This Morning: A Thread (TW: Suicidal ideation)

My brain: Ugh, not again

How and why am I still alive?

Because I just fell asleep, it's normal

I don't want to be here.

I don't want to be here.

I cannot unalive myself here. I need to wait until I can.

I need to study, get my degree, get a job, start living alone.

Only then will I be able to end it.

Alone, alone, alone.

Yes, only a few more years.

Let's start the day.

On nights like this, I try to remember to be kinder to myself even if that kindness feels so wrong.

— Fernando Pessoa, from “The Book of Disquiet.”

And many, many valleys of sorrow and mountains of death.

Marina Tsvetaeva, from a diary entry featured in Earthly Signs Moscow Diaries, 1917-1922

Time to go underground and push everyone away after an overwhelming weekend.

The bone chilling winter comes after my soul

as I run through the slippery woods

plummeting inside the abyss.

If my mental illnesses weren't enough, the seasonal cold has been sitting on my head making my mind even more cloudy and jammed. How is any of this fair?

I don't want to do this anymore. It fucking hurts so bad. It's not worth it. I'm tired.

I'd like to stop being anxious now. My head is exploding.

You are just a fragment of my imagination

it feels insulting to cry out loud

when some have loved and lost you

and I've only lost.