(Wish I was) Ready to let go

Heartbreak is exhausting. Tears flow at the most inopportune of times - the mugs! The mugs remind me of him. How ridiculous - to cry over mugs.

Sadness alchemises into anger. Rage slips back into despair. Despair morphs into apathy. Tristesse cracks through once more. The cycle continues.

What is the point? Perhaps the most distressing thought of all. At times I can separate myself from it - Ah, there it goes again. That old brain.

I remember when I first realised that I didn't truly want to die. That is part of what makes these thoughts a lot less distressing. It's a part of me. But it's not me. I cannot quite fathom why my brain suggests the ultimate escape route when I feel lonely, or worse, like I've hurt someone needlessly.

I assume that's it really - escaping. Escaping the feeling. Forever. Wouldn't that be nice? Some small part of my psyche enquires.

That's truly what made me realise my own bravery. That I get up, and have gotten up, for days, weeks, severals times over for months on end, and ignored a brain that actively suggests it would be better were I not to exist.

It's a warning signal. A light on the dashboard. That's all. Not a command. Not a plan. I can even joke about it to myself. Ah yes, still a sad bitch today, I see!

It's a little trickier to joke about with those who love you, and those who truly don't get it.

Nevertheless - we soldier onward. We focus on the six inches in front of our face. Because that's what living is!

And I've got shit to do tomorrow.