Prolix

I enjoyed going to school but hated attending the classes in fear of failure. I suppose I just wanted to get away from home. I remember how tortuous Saturdays were. We'd go grocery shopping but come home to an empty home. Hoarding to fill the void. There was no room. No give. Nothing.

Here I am, 23 years of age and still can't shake suicide off my plate. I don't cut as often but still enjoy pulling scabs off my skin like a zipper. Depression has matured into remorse and I have grown into a broken adult with the heart of an infant. It remains unspoken and everything remains to hurt. 

I recall wanting to kill my mother when I was very young. I made the steps towards it. It's discomforting not knowing that pathway. I can hear the thoughts fighting for it. 

I remember making a promise to kill myself before I turned 18 and then again at 21. I'm just finished. I'm done murmuring and holding myself to sleep. I'm so tired and no amount of sleep will change that.

It's not giving up. Just giving in.

Just for a little bit.