I don’t want to die

on

It’s funny how when I feel sad the words trail across my mind. “I want to die.” Even though I don’t. But the words pop up again and again.

I want to die. No, I want to walk.

I want to die. No, I want to clean.

I want to die. No, I want to practice yoga.

I want to die. No, I want to got o my spot by the lake.

I want to die. No, I want to listen to music.

I want to die. No, I want to call a friend.

I’m not suicidal, I swear it. I’ve been there in the past and I know I’ll never get that low again. But I’ve felt that way so many times in the past that the thoughts come quickly and easily. It’s like driving. I’ve been here before, I know how it works. It’s natural for me to hear “I want to die” in my head. And though it holds no truth or meaning, it’s scary. Now it tells me that I’m not okay and I need to take care of myself. I know it’s not true. It’s not true. It’s not true. Don’t listen to that asshole.

I want to die. No, I want to fucking live.

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