And how it seems to happen more and more frequently while I work tirelessly to hold all of the jagged, broken pieces together to imitate something whole since I can't exist in this world otherwise. Broken, bloody, immensely weary, endlessly carrying pain... Still not dead. Not sure if that's good

I grit my teeth and fake it any time I have to interact with people who have expectations of me giving a crap about them, and I have no source of relief or respite to speak of. I can't even fucking sleep properly to escape the mountainous weight of existence.

Moved on already?

Guess all I can be thankful for is that I've always seen suicide as surrender and I don't know how to do that. Really wish I just wouldn't wake up tomorrow though. Seriously, what's the point?