One of my closest friends, Ione, is the happiest person I know. And not that irritating kind of happy but the kind that makes it impossible for you to remain sad.
I think it has taken a few years to realise. I think that this is now the moment it is time to admit that I am, very much, unhappy. “They” always say that the hardest steps are admitting it to yourself. But I have repeatedly told myself that I am and I have repeatedly ignored my cries for help. I am my own worst critic. My own worst judge. My own worst helper. My own worst councillor.
I make a change but it is temporary.
I hide in a relationship but it is pointless.
I complain about a job I hate but I don’t leave.
I often turn to alcohol to get me through but I wake up with anxiety.
My health deteriorates but I choose not to help it.
I am just getting by.
I am well below water.
I say I don’t need you but I do.
How can I be better?
I am no longer me.
I am no longer real.
I can no longer be.
I can no longer feel.