**tw for sh and suicide mention**

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What is the point of going on?

I am no longer living, merely repeating the same motions day after day.

I'm tired of surviving.

It's not a physical exhaustion but a mental one, weighing me down until I no longer have the will to get out of bed.

I do it anyways, peeling myself up simply because I wish to avoid my mother's rage.

The same rage she passed down to me.

My mother doesn't believe in therapy.

She doesn't think it works.

She thinks suicide is selfish.

How is it selfish when I just want to save you all from myself?

When the only way to stop myself from blowing up is to destroy the entire bomb?

I've tried cutting the blue wires in my limbs, but nothing seems to stop the timer from counting down every time I get angry.

I'm explosive.

I don't wanna be.

I'm angry.

I don't wanna be.

I'm _hurting_.

I don't wanna be.

I'm alive.

I don't wanna be.