Limits

Every morning that I wake up, now, I wake up wanting to scream.

Mornings are increasingly times when I feel most powerless, most worthless, most like a burden to the people around me. Most desperately needing to talk to someone, but most terrified to tell anyone exactly what goes on in my head. 

 If I make an attempt on my life in the near future, it'll be around sunrise. This much I know. Mornings, now, are the times when I feel closest to that divider between this world and the next, and the least inclined to keep continuing to fight to keep myself on this side of it. The end is the ultimate path of least resistance, and I don't know how long I'll have the willpower to walk a more difficult road.

I don't care that things might get better, because everything is hard now, and I can't foresee them getting any easier any time soon. Eventually isn't a goal to work towards; it offers no comfort.


I don't know what to do. 

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