I
know I’m not suicidal. I would never hurt myself nor even thought of ending my
life. But I’m just exhausted about life.
Even when I get a full eight hours of
sleep, I still wake up feeling like I’ve been hit by a truck. I can barely get
through the morning. I don’t want to die, but I barely eat because I’m just not
hungry. I have no desire to take my own life, but I can burn myself while I
dispense the water from the kettle. I’m not careful when I cross the street
because my mind sometimes just wanders a little off track.
When I take shower, I like it when the heater
burns my skin until it grows raw. I barely talk to my friends anymore, and when
I do, I’m not as lively as I’d like to be. All the conversations feel empty and
when I head home, I just feel even number. I don’t want to commit suicide, but
I have no interest in what once gave me joy. I basically have to force myself
to do my favourite hobby or anything that I used to love for that matter.