buried in the stone-cold silence. and i’m sorry if there was something i was supposed to do, something i was supposed to tell you. i’m a bit of a fucking mess right now, but i promise i still love you.

it’s just… sometimes the worst thing about anxiety is that i genuinely can’t tell what’s just my head and what’s actually the reality. 

and how did time manage to pass this quickly? because it feels like yesterday, that we were just kids, running around your back yard pretending for a while that we didn’t have mental illness. 

and it’ll hollow out my chest. it’ll carve out all my hope, and confidence, cut the power, turn off the wifi, slam the door. get it through your fucking head. you’re always going to be alone in here.