I don’t expect you to understand me because right now I can’t even understand myself. It’s like I’m purposefully pressing my self-destruct button. No, it’s like I already have it pressed and I’m fighting myself every single day to keep my finger on it. To not let it up. Because as long as it’s not released it won’t go off. My life is like a grenade and I’ve pulled the pin. I don’t know why. Sometimes – scratch that, oftentimes—I sit awake at night and I think about how to die. Sometimes I almost follow through. The button slowly inches upwards under my finger. I’m not always strong enough to keep it pressed. I’m almost certain that things will end for me. My pain here seems to far outweigh the pain of those I’d leave behind. I’m scared of myself. I don’t want to hurt anyone but I want to die. I want to die. How am I supposed to reconcile that? My brain is broken. I’m broken. I don’t see a cure, but no one else sees the cracks. I feel like when I shattered—and who knows when that was, I could’ve been born like this—when I shattered, I think some of my pieces went missing. How can I fix myself if I don’t have all of the pieces? How can I ever be okay again? I imagine myself as a teapot that was dropped because it burned. Now I’m a leaky good for nothing pile of porcelain that will never do anyone any good. It hurts to feel like this. I just want to stop hurting.