Sleep.

Sometimes I wake up with the intention of not. I feel heavy, almost always. Since I can remember. Sometimes it's incredibly easy to get up. Sometimes, it becomes laborious to breathe. I can't understand how people find it easy to live. To work, and come back home, and sleep and eat. I want to break down and cry. You can't understand how this feels. Unless you suffer from it as I do.  keep busy. Or else my life quickly becomes more heavy, unwilling to move. I can't even cry sometimes, because I'm never home it seems. I'm a stranger in someone else's home. I feel this sadness settle over me, how are people able to find happiness most of the time. I have to fight for it. Every day. But maybe not. More every other day. I have to fight to just live. It's hard. I don't want to sometimes. The safest thing to do in those instances are to sleep. For a bit. Life becomes bearable. It becomes. It helps to have lovely friends. And I feel guilty and not being a good friend. But how can someone be a good friend, someone like myself? I'm so tired. I'm tired of loving, even myself.