You Ask Me How I'm Doing

You ask me how I'm doing.

It's a really hard question to answer.

I'm still alive...I'm breathing in and I'm breathing out...I'm brushing my teeth, trying to remember to eat, showing up on time to wherever I need to be, but I'm just kind of here. Being. Doing. I'm in a weird state of just simply existing.

It feels like most the time my sadness isn't surface level, like maybe I look okay on the outside, but it's a sadness far far worse and far more darker than what a outward expression of sadness normally looks like.

I feel like my sadness and emptiness runs so deep.

Things are going to get far worse before they get better.

My rock bottom is on the horizon, I think, and I'm really scared of it. Rock bottom means there will be a climb back up, which I know I can handle, because I'm a tough little thing, but just because I can handle it doesn't mean I want to or that it will be easy to do.

Did You Really Wear Black?

Did You Really Wear Black?

Please Don't Tell Me: "He Died A Hero"

Please Don't Tell Me: "He Died A Hero"

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