3:13 p.m. | 2016-05-29
11:11

yesterday i found myself thinking a lot about death.

it's that place i find myself, again and again: is it worth it, being here? do i want to die? i think prior to yesterday i hadn't thought about it in months, the longest i've gone since the idea first found regularity in my head five years ago.

a job i hate, this friendless and loveless decade, with only my family giving me any reason to keep trying. the list of my personal and professional failings hasn't changed. the only fluidity here is within my mind, one day deciding "yes, it's enough", the next wanting nothing more than to hurdle my body into a telephone pole.

and, like always, it's a moot point: i'm terrified, so i stay.

today my sister called me crying. she's going through some health problems, she's studying for the bar and stressed about it, and yesterday things went to shit and she landed in the hospital. her husband is focused on the money, hadn't even started their phone conversation with a "how're you feeling?" so she called me. maybe a small thing, but it's just about everything to me.

i feel like these moments, these moments of motivation for me to keep living, are few and far between. i keep count of them like they're tangible items stacked in my closet, pull them out when i get like this. sometimes i feel like my stack is depleted, and then life throws another one at me. and i don't believe in god, i'm not spiritual, i don't really believe in anything, but most of the time i'm thankful for whatever force throws me another one of these objects.

sometimes, though, i'm just mad. i'm just tired of hanging on and i wish this closet could just be cleared out and boarded up. things will never change. i'm tired.

but i really love my sister.