I could be dead. I could be dead. I wrote that twice because I’m saying it with two different emotions. One where I’m so grateful to be alive and another sneakier, terrible thought where I realize that if I do die I’ll get some rest. That’s fucked up. I know it. And as soon as it hits my mind I shoo it away because I know it’s the depression, but this is a place for honesty, so there it is.
