There hasn’t been a day this month where I didn’t think about dying.
I haven’t done anything with those thoughts, and I know better than to give in.
Over time, I’ve began to realize that these aren’t necessarily my own thoughts, but the product of my jacked up brain chemistry.
At times, though, it almost feels like it’s an alternate me trying to take control.
A version of me taken straight from film negatives.
God, the negatives used to scare the hell out of me as a kid.
Now, I can understand why.
Depression is stupid.