There isn’t a day

There isn’t a day where I don’t tell myself, “I want to die.” Sometimes it’s as a joke; but deep down inside I know that it isn’t.

There isn’t a day where I think about what would happen if I were no longer existent — gradually becoming less tangible, and more forgotten.

There was a day where I blindly walked across the street, not even noticing that the cars were crossing the intersection. I was scared, but I didn’t move. If a car were about to hit me, I wouldn’t move out of the way. If a robber came and pointed a gun at my head, I wouldn’t stop him. If I fell off a cliff, and in the moment I was scared, I held onto the edges of the rocks, I would eventually let go.

There isn’t a day where I am not grateful, though, for the people who have made a difference in my life. I am tired, but so are they, and they still find the strength within them to help me with this sickness and longing for nothing.

There isn’t a day to waste — make the most out of every single one.

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