I realize now that I have mastered the art of crying with no sound. Here, on my bed, I lay. I stare up at the ceiling blankly, tears rolling down each side of my face.
Yet I still hate crying. It only ever made things worse. How much longer can I stay here? I left, but when I leave again, is it only to come back? Am I constrained to some Boomerang?
How much longer can I take this?
How much longer until I fully snap and finally decide let's just end it all?
How can I live when every day it feels like another piece of me dies, buried, deep, deep, deep in a place that I cannot find?