I think I'm empty. I have nothing to say. There isn't anything I want to say. I feel a little bit dead. Which makes me feel a little bit better. Because it means I have less to deal with.
Maybe if I could just become completely empty, like, have nothing of me left, then I can stop worrying. I can stop caring, which means I can stop hurting.
I remember this feeling well. It's such an effort to speak. To communicate. It's such an effort to lift my hands to type. To breathe. To listen.
I feel sick a lot. I suppose that's a good thing some would say. I don't know why. It hurts to breathe. I wish it wouldn't. I wish I could just not have to breathe. I remember that feeling. I remember feeling like I could just lie there and stop breathing. It was easy. I'd just stop. But then something in me (reflex? Maybe? I don't know) would force me to take another breath. And another.
I remember hating myself for that. Hating myself for not being able to make my body do what I wanted it to.
It hurts to breathe right now.