With each hour of each wasted day I am getting closer to the point where I no longer can bend, and break, and snap at all possible points of my being where pressure has been the toughest.
Someone told me to go kill myself today, jokingly. I don’t know why I added the word “jokingly” at the end there, as if to serve as defense in favour of that person. “Oh no, he was being humorous about it, he didn’t mean it seriously.” I never knew how triggering and horrifyingly haunting the tiniest of details from my monotonously droning everyday routine can be.