Mental illness is like fighting a war where the enemy’s strategy is to convince you that the war isn’t actually happening.
The day I have been dreading for months finally came, my pop died this morning at 2:30.
I am going to try and sleep. I hate it here
I know most people in my position would go see their grandfather but I know what I can and can’t handle and forcing me to go see him, is only going to lead me to want to kill myself. When I say I can’t handle it, I can’t handle it. Telling me to that either I go see him or I could leave just makes matters worse. You say you care about me, but you don’t listen to me when I speak. I am already broken up about losing him, why can’t you understand that.