It's Sunday today. I'm supposed to be home right now, to have dinner with my family, because my parents have been married for twenty years. Instead, I am in the forest, trying to calm down by writing my thoughts down. It's not working. It's not fucking working. I also brought my shaving blades with me. I'm going to try to bury them into the sand. I want to let go of it. I want to let go of it all, but I can't. I'm too weak for it. I want to be free. I want to feel loved. And right now the only thing that holds onto me, is the depression. It's keeping me alive, but it is killing me as well. I want the blood to dance on my skin, but I don't want the scars. Everything is just so blurry. I want to let go of it, but at the same time I need the comfort.