These days I pull out my hair just to feel some relaxation.
It’s weird, and I know that, and I don’t want you to lecture me or tell me something I already know about tics and trictillomania.
I’m off, and I know it.
Let me breathe, okay?
I could just end it all, I guess, but that’s what I’m afraid of.
The end.
And naturally, on average,
I’m nowhere near the last chapter of my story,
but that doesn’t do much to calm me.
Must keep on living.
Must live.  
Must do more things.
Learn more.
Be more.