Confused & Hopeful

This is is the year that I say here I am and this is what I feel and I know it’s not pretty and it’s mostly just sad but atleast it’s not stuck inside somewhere just below my chest. I know this isn’t poetic or popular and it won’t be read but having it public is as honest as I can get. Today I am here and I am sad and I don’t know why, but I am saying it out loud so it doesn’t feel so lonely. And I guess that’s basically the point.

If you threw me a lifeline I don’t think I would take it anyway.

Tony had a dream they had a child named Morgan in Infinity Wars and oh my heart he only had five years with her in endgame😫😭

without bothering to mention you were perfectly fine before he played so recklessly with your heart

I spent a good chunk of my life not caring whether I lived or died. Tbh I was living hoping I would die. I was reckless and wild. I treated my body as if it was a temporary home for my time in this world was finite, and it’s expiration wasn’t far away. I buried my mom when I was 16 and I think I left myself in the church that day. Someone else came out and she didn’t belong here. She didn’t want to. I did everything I could think of to put myself at risk and heaven and hell refused to take me. People thought I was wild and free or maybe they saw I was begging for an out and they just weren’t the ones who needed to intervene. I’ve talked to friends I knew then and they said I was just living my life. I guess they couldn’t really see all I was doing was running from actually having to live one. I spent years both actively and passively trying to kill myself. The most exhausting part of deciding to live is trying to repair all the damage I inflicted on this body. My mind forgets, my teeth break, my liver and kidneys ache. I treated my body like a rental and now that I’m invested it’s a real fixer upper.

The weight a person carries is unknown to the world. The length of time they’ve struggled through darkness is undefined. We only know it by its end. It’s sad it takes such a severe conclusion for us to notice another’s suffering. Maybe we are all too consumed by our own monsters. I’ve never viewed suicide, hers or mine, as a tragedy, only a relief. If you are suffering to such an extent that this is your only conceivable escape, by all means free yourself. We never know the darkness of another’s heart nor the capacity at which one can tolerate suffering. Who am I to tell them they must continue to exist in anguish. Only you know your own limits. Not all of us were made to survive.