The writing is on the wall, but it seems only I’m able to see it somehow.
I don’t want to do this anymore.
I don’t want to figure this out anymore.
I want to be listened to.
Truly heard.
Empathized with.
I want to be hugged and told it’s all going to be okay.
Even if it isn’t.
I want and need things to slow down.
I’m tired of this brutal process.
It’s never-ending.
I’m always so tired.
Of it all.
Sooner or later, it may kill me.
And I shouldn’t be, but I’m okay with that.
Contradicting my own self.
Why fight to live if dying feels like it would be such a relief?
I have no idea.
But I’m tired of having to keep doing it.

So tired.

But unable to sleep.

God, just give me peace tonight, and if you do, I promise I will fight again tomorrow.

No matter if I want to or not.