I had a dream I was dead.

They didn't let me keep the dreams, but I remember that they were good. I felt like I was finally in a space where I belonged with people I can't remember...

I had a dream all of this was over and I wasn't so angry and frustrated anymore.

I had a dream that there were no more expectations. I remember there was a girl with curly blonde hair, but I don't remember what she was saying to me.

It was a heavy sleep, like that out of a blessing. And in my dream, I could finally breathe.

Acceptance

I think I'm starting to come to the acceptance that without meds, I won't be able to function in society.

From my eyes, at this moment, it looks like this:

There's the outside world. And then there's mine. I'm safe here. For the time being, at least. But I can't live out there. I feel as though I'm going insane. Things are disappearing, physical things. Think I can't function without. My only sanctuaries are being torn down by my own hands, and I don't mean to do so. It's not my fault. It's out of my control, it's not in my hands.

Too many strikes. I know I will not be forgiven. I know I am losing all the things I had worked so hard for, things that came to me as gifts from the universe.

I wanted to cut myself today, but I knew that wouldn't stop anything. Wouldn't delay anything. So instead, I formulated a plan to kill myself. The pills are next to me, three different types. But upon further research, I had found that these pills, these OTC pills are designed SPECIFICALLY to prevent overdosing. My razor is too high quality to come apart in my hands. I am alone.

A large part of me wants to check into the hospital, but then I wouldn't finish this semester and I'd have to start all over again. Further behind. Much further behind as I see the rest of everyone I know and love moving forward...

I feel as though I'm watching the world from a glass wall. It's safe in here, for the time being. But the effects of being a flake, of not facing what's outside are going to build up and attack me.

They say suicide is not a crime, but self defense. I am defective. People form disabilities because of traumatic experiences and they can heal. But I was born with this. I was born broken, defective. I always fight people when they tell me I'm broken. I retaliate. I say I'll challenge anyone and prove them wrong. Fight until they all see how strong I am.

But I am broken. And now that I think of it, I've been broken my entire life.

I can't function anymore without meds. I can't do it. So either way, the outcome is a pill.

My friend is picking me up. I can't be alone right now. In the end, everything is going to be okay.