Untitled

This is the last writing from two weeks before my suicide attempt over a year and a half ago. This one has no title and it never will.

I am slowly dying inside.

And it’s my fault.

The drinking, the sex, it’s not who I am.

Or is it?

Who am I, truly? Cause I don’t even know.

Will I ever know?

I am dying, before I have even lived.

I am dying, and I don’t even know who I am.

I am dying. I am dying. I am dying.

And only I can save myself.

But, do I want to?

Do I want to continue existing?

Or do I want to drown in my thoughts and sorrows.

I am lost. I cannot see a light.

There is no light.

There is only darkness, as far as I can see.

If I want, I can kill myself.

If I want, I can get better.

But right now I am in limbo.

I am existing but not living.

I am dying, I am existing, but I am dying inside.