Life hands me lemons. I don't make lemonade. I experience every ounce of their sour fruit. I let them break my heart and drown my sorrows in alcohol spritzed with their flavor. Lately I've been doing a lot of that. Drinking away the pain. I never used to be like that, and I keep trying to write about the positives. But today I want to delve into my own emotional suicide. Maybe I'm a little drunk. Maybe it's only 3:30 in the afternoon. Maybe I have no excuse. But I'm dying. Not physically- but my mind is leaving me. Every second is a battle to not reach for the razor and drag it across my skin. I want the scars. You wouldn't understand that would you? My life isn't perfect, but I'm privileged. Why is everything aching? I don't know. And maybe that's what makes it so bad. I can't do anything to make it better.
