I'm planning to end things tonight, sometime between seven and eight.
Even now, I'm afraid—afraid of how much it might hurt, of what it might feel like in those final moments. The uncertainty is worse than anything else.
Nine years ago, I tried once before. It failed. Since then, nothing has really changed—only more disappointment, more weight, more days that blur into each other without meaning.
I kept thinking things would get better. That something would shift, that I would find a reason to stay. But all these years later, I feel like I've only collected more reasons not to.
If i dont reply to this thread I was succesfull.
Even now, I'm afraid—afraid of how much it might hurt, of what it might feel like in those final moments. The uncertainty is worse than anything else.
Nine years ago, I tried once before. It failed. Since then, nothing has really changed—only more disappointment, more weight, more days that blur into each other without meaning.
I kept thinking things would get better. That something would shift, that I would find a reason to stay. But all these years later, I feel like I've only collected more reasons not to.
If i dont reply to this thread I was succesfull.
see you on the other side
