Nineteen Empty Buckets

struggling against the elements

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I think I need to dissappear.

I think I need to no longer exist.

I think I need to go.

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Hi. I’m anxiety.

You don’t like having a normal heart rate and being able to breathe - right?


Hi anxiety.
Fuck. You.

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Told one person I’m not okay. I’m so not okay.

They ignored it.

I called CATT and considered hospital. But there was no one to hold my hand. I’m actually invisible and worthless. I would just be wasting valuable space there.

I’m not telling anyone else. I’ll bluff through with the tired excuse.

Perhaps I do just need to dissappear completly. Perhaps I need to no longer exist.