[TW: Explicit suicidal ideation, explicit discussion of methods of suicide]

The dreams lately are fairly nonsensical. I’d never knife myself in reality.

Or at least, I don’t think I would.

But it’s these images that are filling my dreams lately, more often than they used to. Dreaming of feeling a long, thin, slick blade sliding between my ribs, going through my lungs, my heart. This should hurt, yet, in my dreams, it never does.

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Today, I’m exhausted.

I woke up, late, wanting nothing more than to curl up in a ball and go back to sleep. It takes me many minutes to drag my sorry carcass out of bed. My energy levels are absurdly low; even a small handful of French Roast coffee beans, ground between my teeth and pressed against the insides of my cheeks to maximize caffeine absorption, cannot seem to give me any energy.

It’s Saturday, and I’m still alive. Still existing, somehow.

I don’t feel alive.

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