The only moments I can find myself numb is through drugs, pure blindness, and the enjoyment of those few close to me. For whatever reason of why they even want know me, or give a shit about anything involving me, they're joy, which is pure, and without poison of hate my life is fueled and destroyed with.
Yet every night I sleep in pain knowing my only thoughts are the wantings of death. Yet every morning I wake up, weak, exhausted, and dreading the day that I must continue breathing for. I participate in life because if I don't I'll succumb to my demons and die from my own hands.
But if I do I know that I will hurt those few people that for some reason actually care that I'm still breathing. I've done fucked up shit that haunts me, and have been put through shit that people don't come back from, yet I'd rather breathe and remember my pains every day, then die and hurt them.