I'm Not Suicidal, I Just Can't Get Out Of Bed..

So. This morning I just woke up and ... I don't know. I couldn't do anything, I just ... couldn't. So I didn't. Mom was off to work early, I saw the note on the dresser, so I just curled up and lay there for a really long time. Finally (I think it was around 11-ish) I decided to get up and do something. So I made tea and came back and sat on my bed with my laptop and wrote until I can't think of anything to say. And then I watched a movie that I didn't want to ever watch. And listened to all the songs I didn't want to ever hear. And said all the things I didn't want to ever say. And it's still here. Like something I can't get rid of. And I just want it to go away.

I almost broke my promise to Bethany and Ben, but instead I used a sharpie this time like Anna suggested. But you can hide scars. You can't wash off sharpie. Not that easy. Mom got home from work for lunch. And she saw it. It didn't take her all of 5 seconds to know what I did. She yelled at me and told me to take my medicines like I should. But I told her I don't want to take my fucking medicines. I hate them, all they ever do is make me feel like I'm not alive. I'd rather feel pain than feel nothing.

And at that point I realized.

I've been asking for this all along. This is what living feels like. It feels like every breath has to hurt because every breath you're finding out it's not what you wanted. Living feels alot like pain with the occasional sunny day to make the clouds go away. But I'm afraid those days are gone. Please don't take away the only sunshine I can still see. Please don't disappear.