I’m not panicky anymore. Just full on depressed.
I know I am because I am this close to giving up.
If I go back on my meds, maybe I can numb myself enough not to feel my misery.
Maybe I can drink enough to get me through all the bullshit.
Maybe I can shove it all back down and keep it bottled up inside, silent and ignored and ever festering.
What’s one more year. There’s a chance it won’t kill me.