I’m tired.

I’m exhausted.

I sit alone in my bed.

I sit alone in the bathroom.

I’m not alone in my head.

I have my depression to “comfort” me. Sorry, that was sarcasm. Depression isnt comforting. But hey, at least I have my anxiety to pat my back and tell me everything that could go wrong, trying to ensure I don’t fuck up. It’s not actually as pleasant as it sounds, though. Depression and anxiety are not things we should romanticize. I’m tired. I’m tired. I’m tired. I’m tired. I’m so fucking tired. All the time. My anxiety keeps me up late and my depression forces me to stay in bed a few hours extra each morning. There’s not really much else to say on the matter. Good night. I hope.

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