I thought I hit rock bottom. Then rock bottom politely informed me it has a basement, and a parking lot, and even a goddamn gift shop!
Every day feels like a cosmic prank. Wake up –> Breathe –> Cry –> Pretend –> Repeat. I’ve mastered the art of looking functional while mentally trying to uninstall life like it’s a glitchy app.
People say “it gets better.” I say, “define better.” Because if “better” means crying with a ring light on while journaling for my future therapist (therapy is not for me though), then hell yeah, I’m getting there.
I don’t want to die. Not really. I just want the version of me that’s tired all the time, doubting everything, to shut up for just a day! I want silence. Peace. Maybe a smoke.
So here I am, writing. Because I so badly want to be okay, because I am tired of my own brain convincing me 24/7 to just off myself.
If you’re reading this: I’m still here. My terrible sense of humor is here too. And somehow, so are you. That’s either tragic, or maybe kinda beautiful?
Well, I hope I start telling my storiyan and maybe you can get a chuckle out of it, and we both feel okay in the end. Stay tuned amigo!
priyakistoriyan 
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