Why is it that when you’re feeling down it only takes the slightest thing to break you? It can be the smallest thing like spilling your coffee or tripping over the cat and you burst into uncontrollable tears and end up looking like a grade A lunatic sobbing in the corner of the train station.
Which I’m doing right now because I missed my train.
I’m in a lot of pain at the moment, hurting a hell of a lot for reasons I can’t get anyone to understand. My life isn’t meant to be like this. I’m not supposed to be here and yet once again I’ve spent my afternoon walking around the town I grew up in lamenting the fact that I’d rather be anywhere else but here. I’m not supposed to be in England, that wasn’t part of the plan.
Now I’m fully aware that the universe doesn’t owe me anything, that I have no right to complain because I have so much to be thankful for. Physically I’m healthy, I have a roof over my head and get to do the thing I love most in the world as a career. But I’m still hurting. I still don’t want to be here, I still want to get away.
As much as I’ve been hurting lately I didn’t expect to feel this bad for so long. Didn’t expect to feel suicidal again, didn’t expect to end up in the mindset that, if I died, I could come back and start all over then. Rationally I know this isn’t true, rationally I know that I didn’t miss my train because I ate breakfast this morning, rationally I know that my weight has nothing to do with the recent events that have led me to feel this way. But that doesn’t mean that that’s not what I’m thinking.
People around me have no reason to worry, just because I want to die doesn’t mean I’m going to do anything to make it happen. But it’s still there, it still hurts, and I’m still sat in a coffee shop crying my eyes out.
All because I missed my train.