For Will.

Don't worry, y'all, I'll probably post a comic later today. Just need to get this off my chest...

I thought that by the time most of my friends were in their mid-20s, early 30s, we would be over this. That I wouldn't have to deal with it.
But why should I have? It's still something I struggle with myself. No one else is any different, no matter how 'together' they seem to have things. We can put on our masks and I can laugh and joke over drinks about how shitty this year has been. And I may have forgotten all those months of putting matches out on my arms, putting razors to my wrists.
But it's still there. With adulthood, it morphs into other things. I still can't sleep without alcohol, can't breathe without cigarettes. Small deaths that leave no marks. I can't look at this face in the mirror every morning and think, this is a life worth living. I can't see what others see, no matter how many times I am told I am loved and amazing.
But that's the same thing they all did. I count myself lucky that only one of them succeeded.
So there is no room in my life for these thoughts anymore. If I can't keep living for myself, I will do it for the people I love and who love me.
Because I don't have time anymore for anyone who doesn't love me, including myself.