Can’t sleep. I was so tired when I went to sleep and now I’m wide awake in the middle of the night again.
I hate sleeping. I just hate it, now. So much. I know, I must hate everything, lol. But seriously… it hurts, though. I’m so tired but I can’t do anything with it, and it hurts. so. MUCH.
I hate it. It fucking HURTS. Everything in body here screams at me when I try to sleep. My mind, my muscles, my bones, my nerves, everything. My soul, my stomach, my eyes, everything. I HATE sleeping. I mean, not that I can do it, anyways.
I don’t know I just hate it know. Oof, it just sucks, and I know that… I feel… that it might be the drugs, but that’s OK, if it’s them. I know the fentanyl loves me, that’s why. I know it. So does the morphine. They love me, so it’s OK.
I mean I now how that sounds but… is that not how it is? I mean, I know that that’s how it is. So… it’s ok, then.
So I got like a couple of gifts from a friend of the family who heard of my… predicament. It helped. I mean, it was two dumb things I got but it’s really nice that I got them. I mean I was still kinda sorta thinking a lot about suicide that morning and the thought that someone cared enough to do that made me resolve to postpone it.
So yeah, the thing is, when I think about suicide, I can actually feel it happening, of course. Weird stuff. I… don’t know. I wish that maybe… I… fuck.
I don’t know. I don’t want to do it… I… it feels… weird, when I think about it. My brains splattering against the wall behind me, you know? It just seems so final… I don’t know.
Gawd it just HURTS. Everything in my body, soul, mind, everything, HURTS. SO. MUCH. Can’t sleep. I know it would help but I can’t. I keep shaking, I need another hit but I can’t. I mean I’m not convulsing as much anymore but I still need it.
I keep thinking of just going ahead and drowning my sorrows again in oceans of drugs. Like, that would be the way to fix everything. Like, or at least, make things better. I mean, I’ve made progress but I’m not sure it’s worth it, you know?
It’s like, fentanyl is my friend. And I can’t… not be with it, you know? It’s like, I need it. It’s been with me for so long that I love it, am in love with it, kinda, in a way. I really want more. Like REALLY. Like, I want so much to tear open my stash and absolutely destroy it. Like, just use ALL of it, to get back to where I was. And I mean it, like seriously, I really, really want that so much incredibly much. Like, I REALLY, REALLY want more of it, right now. Like a LOT. a LOT a LOT. SO MUCH.
Oof, my hands are shaking again. So is everything else. Oof, ahhhhh, ow, lol. I just REALLY need it, lol. It helps me and loves me so much, it does. And I REALLY need it. I just can’t… get AWAY from it. I just can’t. I NEED IT, SO BADLY.
ohhhh… I just… I oh man, I just need it… can’t stop thinking about it… I… really need to use… really badly… need it…
I…… I’m just sitting here, dumbly. It feels so awful. Nobody cares, not really. I hate it. It’s like, I would cry, and I want to, but I’m tired of doing that, too. I’m bored of crying, lol. It’s like the tears are RIGHT THERE but… no… which… is dumb, if I could cry again I might… feel better? Maybe?
Maybe? Is that what happens?
I don’t know. God I wish I was dead, lol. Oh man, if only. I don’t know. I have so much fentanyl in my stash I could kill myself very easily if I wanted to. Like, it would take five minutes, and I would be gone. All of this, gone, forever. So easy. I… don’t know, though.
I’m going back to bed, maybe. Oof. Ow. What am I supposed to do, here? I don’t know.
I’m sorry, world. Honestly. I really am. I didn’t want it to be like this. I’m so incredibly sorry that this is who I am. I’m so sorry, everyone.
Oh, but I can’t see, know. Those tears that I refuse to let out are blurring everything, now. And my hands are refusing to work. Maybe they hate me, too. Like every other part of me does.
I’m… sorry, everyone. And I mean it, so much.
Sorry.