My fish are dead

I really questioned whether or not I should write today, what I wanted to post is probably the darkest, most defeatist piece I've ever written. But I can't publish it. It's not helpful for me, or anyone who may read it. So here's a summary. Every single solitary second that I'm awake is torture. Every single one. But, I'm physically fine, so there's no reason why I can't keep going, right?? It is all just in my head after all. I mean, if I was having asthma attacks every 30 minutes, something would be done, right? Or slipping in and out of a diabetic coma? How about heart attacks? Broken limbs? Cancer?? Would I be sent on my way with a pat on the head, a few xanax and told I needed to learn to cope with it? I somehow doubt it.

I'm keeping going right now because I have no choice. That's it. I'm not brave, or strong, or committed, or assured of my ability to beat this. I just have no choice. Hospital strategy? Xanax. Epic. Thank you so much for a world of absolutely nothing, you out and out wankers.

(just so you know, this is very much a toned down version of what I wanted to say. But it's the most I'm prepared to make public).

Happy Monday.

Ps - here, this is a lot what things feel like at the moment. Thanks Ali (go check out the whole post here. She articulates this precise moment in time way better than I can)

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