I am crumpling.
Deteriorating.
In every way my mind and body can handle, I am falling apart.
I am sick, and I am not going to heal. It is too late. I am too far gone.

I sleep. I wake up. I don't eat. I take pills. I sleep again. Repeat.

My eyes are heavy, my head is light. I am in pain. I can't move. More pills.

I dream I see him in my room. I wake up. He is not there because he is dead. He killed himself. More pills.

I think about her smile. She can't smile anymore because she is dead. She was killed in a car accident. More pills.

I miss him. But I will never see him again because he is dead. Cancer stole his life before he could see me grow up. More pills.

I long to meet him. But I never will because he is dead. Before he even took a breath on his own, his body gave up. More pills.

I swallow pills with grief.
I numb my mind like I numb the pain.
It goes away for a while, and life seems normal. Then the bandage falls off.

I am weak again.
Exposed.
Vulnerable.
Am I sad? Am I depressed? Am I angry? Maybe. I am sick. And I've seen too many people die. And I am not going to heal.