I’ve stayed alive this long because I haven't let myself want anything. If I let myself remember why I used to want to live, I’d remember why I now want to die, and I’d try again to kill
myself.
I don’t want to live, but a part of me still does, and I feel
sorry for that part. I think of it as a wounded
animal that doesn’t know its wound is fatal. My mind knows the wound is fatal, but my body doesn't.
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