9 Days

I’ve been home 9 days.  In those 9 days, I have taken 3 showers and 1 bath.  I’ve changed my clothes 4 times. I’ve left the house 3 times.  I only leave my bedroom to go outside and smoke or use the bathroom.  I’ve had maybe 2 real conversations with my BFF.  I ordered “groceries” from Amazon Prime Pantry.  Those “groceries” consisted of a box of protein bars, tortilla chips, popcorn and creamer for my coffee.  I look at what I’ve become and I know it will get worse.  I did a load of laundry today knowing that I won’t be wearing those clothes any time soon.  Why bother doing them? Why bother getting out of bed each day?  Why bother showering?  Or getting dressed?  Why bother breathing at all?  There is nothing left for me here.  There’s nothing for me anywhere, if I’m being honest.  Each day that passes, I die just a little more on the inside.  Each day that passes, I start considering disappearance a little more.  I know I can’t be saved by anyone.  And to be perfectly frank, I don’t wish to be saved.  I just want my heart to stop beating.  My eyes to stop seeing.  My brain to cease thinking.  More than anything, I wish I owned a gun.  Doug keeps telling me that I need one, for protection.  A gun would never provide me protection.  I would never use it in such a way.  If someone was intent on hurting me, I’d let it happen.  If I had a gun, I would use it on myself.

And yet, not a single person has noticed this storm inside of me.

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