Therapy’s been fine but it’s not fixing my problems.
Each week talking about something new, but we never actually solve them.
Mr. Joyce tells me I need to let my emotions pass through me.
But my emotions make me who I am, so I know I need to disagree.
My identity has always been important and, honestly, I identify as depressed.
That as well as anxious, lost, and always stressed.
So maybe that makes me too scared to actually fix these issues,
I don't want to be happy, I just want to grip a box of tissues.
I recognize that’s no way to live, and I’ve made my decision.
I burned my friends and family one last time as an act of rescission.
I’ve said it many times before, so I know there’s no reason to believe,
But I think I’ve hurt them enough so I know that they will not grieve.
I fought these demons for far too long and I had a pretty great run.
But the pain inside keeps getting worse and I know that I am done.
Lasting this long was the greatest of my accomplishments,
But the only thing that gets me through now is ingesting intoxicants.
I’m getting my affairs in order, and I apologize to those I hurt,
But the pain I caused will make it easier for me to desert.