My brain told me it was time to write so here I am. I just don't feel great these days. Regardless of the fact that I don't eat anymore, I'm just tired and it won't change. I found purpose for a few days, but every time I'm alone with my thoughts for long enough, the anxiety sets back in and I can't escape it. It's exhausting being anxious all the time, and there is just so little I can do to keep myself distracted and calm. Everything sucks. And I'm really tired of people telling me how to feel.

I'm tired of my friends meaning well, but just making shit worse. I isolate, but they come and find me anyway, and they ask what's wrong, and I tell them. Sometimes they give advice, but sometimes they don't, and I prefer that they didn't. I know how to guard myself, but I still feel the constriction of my heart. They mean well, but it hurts. Why is it that we are so bent on forcing people not to love someone? Why are we accepting of love only when the object is attainable, why not from the other side? You can tell me not to love you, but that is just not going to happen. To the detriment of my own sanity and my health, of course. I didn't feel led on by your presence, it made it easier to cope, but you insisted, anyway, and the last thing I want to do is stand in the way of someone so sure of themselves, no matter how much it hurts.

I wish I could turn off this heart for you, but I can't. And so I will simply accept the lack of your presence, instead of despairing over it. I will be proud of you from afar, I will love you always, in the quietude and the solitude of my own heart and my own lonely presence. I love you not because I need you, but because I want you, you, the person before me, not the idea of you. I can live without you, but I don't want to. I know that I have to, and I will, and I'm going to, but I don't want to. I guess I'm relegated to the past now, and it makes me want to die. I will live alone because my heart belongs to one. Anything that I say will be met with opposition, so I'll keep my words close to my heart, unspoken for fear of the importance of them dying a cold death.

I can't think about anything, I can't get through a single day, I can't get through a single fucking night, not even a sleep, there is no peace from my thoughts of you. I go to sleep thinking of you, I dream of you, I wake up thinking of you, and then the entire day, I think of you, too; I worry, I reminisce, I wonder, I yearn, I lack, I choke, I cry. I don't know when it will stop, and I'm tired. I am so tired. I am so tired of it hurting. I am so tired of the lack of you. I am so fucking tired of nothing working, nothing helping anymore. I can't even cry without it feeling like a fucking chore. I'm tired of my eyes hurting from the crying, I'm tired of not being able to breathe, I'm tired of the envy I have of my friends who were lucky enough to have a partner return after no contact.

What are the odds of that even happening? It doesn't ever happen. And then it happened to two of my friends one after the other in tandem, just another knife through my heart to remind me that that's not my reality. My reality is this sore one, this one I have difficulty living in, this one that I can't accept, the one I actively run away from. I'm always pulled back, I'm reminded that you're gone and it feels like my heart stops beating. If I express my suicidal ideations, people will be scared, they'll yell at me. So I just don't. But I want to die, I'm so sick of being heartbroken. In my suicide note, I wrote that I cannot handle heartbreak anymore. I simply cannot. This is it, I'm not doing it again, I will die of heartbreak whether that is by my own hand or by the suffocating pain. There is no other way out of this and it scares me how final and sure of it I am. I'm tired, though. I think anybody would understand that.

I feel sick.