I think that for so long I’ve always been going to bed with a pit in my chest and waking up already saying “fuck today” that it feels almost empty without it. I don’t know if anyone else will read this and get this but it’s almost addictive to hurt yourself by thinking about how much your life sucks because you’ve got nothing else to think about or do that when you’re going to bed absolutely fine and waking up just alright, it’s empty. I’m in a place right now where I was in a great place, for a long time actually before a hiccup happened in my life and now I’m in this pit again. It’s not as bad as what I used to be but just enough to where everyday stops feeling so empty. You’re back, in an almost bittersweet kind-of-fucked-up sense.