I'm in a bad way again. A very bad way.
Every day is a struggle. I don't want to exist. It's too hard. Everything is too hard. Being awake is too hard.
I wake up every morning not knowing how I'll make it through the day. Not knowing how I can possibly do it again. I tell myself over and over again that it's worth it. Living. That living, pushing on, existing, is worth it.
I often don't believe it. I mostly don't believe it.
But I tell myself that. That it's worth it. I have my son and my hubby and friends and family and my dog and my job and all that shit and that's why it's worth it.
I tell myself that all the time. Because I have to remember. Because otherwise . . .
. . . otherwise I might forget.
I take naps. Naps to escape my mind. Naps to escape my feelings. Every day, every night, I look forward to bedtime. An escape . . . but I dread it, too. Because I know I'll have to wake up in the morning. Wake up and do it again. Struggle again. Push again.
I don't want to. Sometimes . . . I'd rather forget.
I'm tired. I'm trying, but I'm tired.
