You won't know how much it truly hurts until the day you find me missing. You'll lay down to sleep, but spend the whole night wondering.
"Where did he go? Why wasn't he here? Is he okay? I hope this isn't what I fear."
After a few days it will start to sink in that I'm not coming back, then you'll eventually lose track of time until you sit down to sip some wine and think of me again in some distant I know not when. Countless texts and calls, disconnected number, and you'll never know what really happened, but you'll know, deep down, I finally put an end to my pain. You'll walk outside, stand in the rain, and you'll feel me there, all around you. That's when you'll realize it all was true.
I'm getting tired of no one who understands, tired of these empty hopeful hands, tired of no one believing, tired of no one sitting by this bed, tired of everyone leaving, tired of all these hospital stays and wishing I were dead. I'm tired of waiting for it to miraculously get better, knowing with every bit of my being that it will never. God,
I'm just tired
of being tired of being tired.