Every day, there’s this weight on my heart. Every day, it feels like I’m dragging around a dead weight on my back. Pretty depressive that that dead weight is me.
These couple of days has been better, at least it’s been easier to smile a little bit. And the tears have been behaving themselves and staying inside.
I think it’s about time to come to terms that I may never attend another family gathering. Maybe it’s dramatic and too soon to say, but I wouldn’t be able to stay away from someone I cared about for more than a month. But hey, I say with utmost certainty that my heart is much bigger and more fragile than others.
It’s almost stupid, how long this has gone on. And what the trigger was. Although, it still bothers me. What kind of people goes to someone’s house to insult them and completely forgets what she said? And also, what kind of person tells someone they’ve know for more than 10 years to go die.
I almost feel like it’s my duty to. Go die that is. It seems to be what’s expected.
The other day, in the early morning, before the sun awoke, I went to the stairwell of the top floor of my apartment building. And just stood there, staring at the ground, wondering if I was high enough. I wanted, and yet didn’t want to launch myself off the railing.
Strangely enough, the idea of my brains splattered on the floor disturbed me enough so that I eventually went back to bed.
Should I have? Ended it all?
Just thinking about it brings me peace. And yet, so much more agony.
What will people remember about me?