It happened then. It's happening now.
It has been happening. Love. Hate.
Humpday. I could barely get out of bed.
I wasn’t hungry. I wasn't interested.
I feel really sick. Of this life. Of this world.
Sick inside, sick outside. Just sick. And tired.
Perhaps I needed a day. To get back on track.
I wanted to exist. I wanted to breathe.
My friends are celebrating their birthdays.
I am happy but can't do anything just now.
Everything seemed more distant.
Can I make it out of here, of this, alive?
I am working. I can. I will. I did. For hours.
I am getting comfortable with being a zombie.
I am working but I am laying flat in my mind.
My body, my thoughts, my future...rotting in the shadows.
What else do I need to do? Many. I’d rather starve.
It happened then. It's happening now.
It has been happening. Love. Hate.
I have gotten out of bed. But, you know, I'm dead.
