Sometimes I feel like leaving my house for the last time and laying in the middle of a mostly vacated road at 2AM, early winter. Breathing in that fresh, crisp air that I can never feel cold in. Reading through old messages and apologising a thousand times for what I'm about to do, sending that final 'i love you'. Feeling a sense of freedom that I haven't felt in a long time. Leaving the work, the hurtful words, the sadness behind. Knowing that my time is up, but accepting it, a fragile bird without a skeleton.
Looking onwards towards the car that will eventually run over my throat.
YOU ARE READING
My depression thoughts
Non-FictionI am not 'promoting or glamarising' mental illness. I'm writing my own thoughts as a way of release. I don't expect many people to read this but it's more of a diary. Adding this to your reading lists or commenting would mean a lot, though. The majo...
