Just to See

The thought of not being here isn’t just a passing thing. It’s like a constant background noise. It’s there when I first open my eyes and it’s there when I’m trying to fall asleep. It’s exhausting to live with a brain that’s constantly trying to convince you that you’re done. 

Some days it feels like I’m just waiting for the clock to run out, or like I’m watching my life happen from the bottom of a pool. Everything is blurry, everything is heavy, and everything feels pointless.

People tell you to "stay strong," but they don't get that "strong" is exactly what you're tired of being. You’ve been strong for too long and you just want to lay the weight down.

But the weird thing is that tiny bit of curiosity.

It’s so small compared to the darkness, but it’s there.

It’s that part of me that wonders if I’m going to miss something good.

Not a "miracle" or anything fake like that, just a normal day where it doesn’t feel like I’m breathing underwater. I think about the person I might be in a couple of years. Maybe that version of me has a favorite song they haven't heard yet. Maybe they’ve found a place where they feel safe. Maybe they look back at right now and they’re just glad I didn't give up.

It’s a tug-of-war every single day.

On one side, there’s this massive, overwhelming urge to just stop the pain.

On the other side, there’s this tiny, annoying "what if."

What if I’m wrong? What if the future actually has something for me?

I’m still here because I’m not ready to let the worst parts of my brain win the argument.

I’m tired, I’m hurting, and I’m pretty over it all, but I’m still here.

I’m staying just to see what happens, even if I have to do it one hour at a time.