Please do not message me about this, I'm taking care of things as of now, and I'd really rather not talk about this with anyone, I was just looking for a means to vent.

Please don’t read this. Please, stop at this line. Don’t read any deeper, I just wanted a place to project, scream into the void and knows that it hears, but not have to bear the weight of a response.

Limbo is the most beautiful hell I’ve ever experienced. It’s been so long since I’ve had such a strong divide in my thoughts, wants, and actions. I’ve been hurt and done some hurting, and that’s been pretty constant, nothing to shake me up, but it’s been years since I’ve felt this strange sort of feeling. One half wants to leave, the other wants to stay, and both are wrong. One half says leave, because you must. The other says stay, because you need to. But the first says leave, not because leaving is right, but because it hurts, and the hurting is right. Likewise, the second says stay, not because the needing is healthy, but because the need is overwhelming. As with all of life, the truth lies somewhere in the middle, and that’s a hard place to find.

This might look like a cry for help, and to some might look like an attempt to cleverly say what I want without “saying” it, but that’s not the case. I’ve locked things in so long that they have to come out, hell or high water. It’s not that I want to kill myself, but a subtle wish to die quietly creeps in from time to time. Exhaustion will do that, I suppose, after all, sleep is the cousin of death.

I have an appointment with a counselor tomorrow. I don’t know if I should be proud, ashamed, or somewhere in the middle. Honestly, the idea of what I should feel only crossed my mind as a way to tear myself down. I don’t have a strong urge to feel anything, and what I do feel is tired. I’m getting so tired, tired of standing up again and again after falling down. And yet I can’t make myself stop. Don’t have the will to kill my own will, I suppose. Too tired to live, too stubborn to die.

I want to get better, I want to make myself a better person, be more social, more balanced. I tell myself that this is easy, should be anyways. Always been hard on myself, what I’m told anyways. I think to myself that I managed to pull myself out of failing 3 classes and getting C’s in the rest for 3 or 4 semesters, and that I’ve gotten my GPA right, that I’m finally doing okay in school. I think about how I managed to shed the weight I carried for a decade, 100 pounds in less than a year, and maintaining it. If I can do that, why not this? I rail it home, over and over, until a small voice, barely even conscious, reminds me that this is hard. This will take work, will take time. And honestly, that scares me more than anything I’ve ever felt. I have a strong fear that in trying to change myself to get better, I’ll change who I am at the core. Not abandon, per se, but lose a piece of it to the void as I scream it all away. Maybe that’s good. Maybe some things should be lost.

I see dark purple jello with fruit in it. Not fresh fruit. Fruit cocktail.

I wake up.

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