It's been 73 days since we've hurrah'd and yolo'd our way into *new year new me,* and i can attest that i am def a, 'new me.'

My family and friends have stopped calling.
I've told the jerks closest to me how tired I am of being sad, but they've run out of things to say.
I want to talk about how bad it hurts, but they hold their hand up when I start, and say 'You don't have to tell me if it's too hard.'
Why can't I cry in front of you?

I play this game of elimination in my head. What if I take the things out that are eye sores?
Maybe if I let that one thing go, I would be happy.
Maybe if I forgive those fuckups, I would feel less anxious.
Maybe if the entirety of my existence collapsed, the whole thing would be better off.

And that's what depression, and suicidal thoughts are, essentially.

It's looking at your life, and feeling overwhelmed by all the bad things.
It's looking at the blockades and not seeing a way to hurl yourself over.
There is no hope, there is no joy, and there is absolutely no solution.

You disengage, for a while, but there is only so much of that you can do.
You can only fake it till you can't make it, and then falter.
You have days like today, where you post and say 'I can't handle this much longer,' because truly, that's how you feel.