My fingers itch.
Today should not be happening. It shouldn't exist. I shouldn't exist today. My right hand hurts from punching the wall.
My fingers itch.
Saved on my desktop is a note from 3 months back. Things have not improved from this state. Most of them have in fact got markedly worse. Is it any wonder I'm falling apart?
1 housemate who's suicidal and recently told us all he's made a will, 1 who either can't leave the house from anxiety or disappears for 3 days at a time, 1 who is considering restarting steroids again whilst he's cycling back onto his SSRIs, 1 housemate with cancer, 1 friend who's so depressed his husband and I had to consider between us whether we needed to stage some kind of mental-health intervention, 1 friend who is almost certainly about to get arrested for drug dealing, 2 who I can't hang out with anymore because they're so wired 24/7, you're breaking down worse than ever, Johnny just had another surgery which automatically makes me worry like hell, 2 of my friends just broke up from a 6 year relationship and I'm quitting my job because my own mental health has divebombed so badly in the last 8 months.
Quitting that job was seemingly one of those things that made things worse. In trying to save myself, I destroyed one of the few good things I had going.
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