It’s opening your eyes to feeling like you’ve awoken from nothing approaching sleep. Like all you can do is close them again and hope for the best. Like if you do it again, you just might not want to stop existing. It’s thinking of the last time you cried. It’s crying again. It’s crying again and not really knowing why. It’s knowing why and being scared of the reason. It’s walking around with red hot – red not as if you really have had no sleep or you have stared at the sun for longer than anyone else ever has. It’s missing those people you used to talk to. The people who have contacted but who you haven’t contacted back. Who you haven’t contacted back because the feeling of doing anything so close to yourself as communication is just too much to bear. It’s wondering why you still feel like this. It’s thinking to back to when you last felt like this and being angry with yourself because you thought you were done with all that. Wishing you weren’t feeling like this again. Wondering if there’s something wrong with yo for thinking about that old stuff again. Telling yourself you’re not really thinking about it, you’re just thinking about it. It’s wishing you were okay. It’s thinking about what your family, your friends, will say. Wondering if they believe you (again). It’s wishing you were less useless and worthless than you’re convinced you are. It’s wondering when you’ll ever make something of yourself. If. It is what it is.