Feeling… “Handled”

I was dying.
Yesterday was complete and utter hell.

The darkness I had fallen into was unbearable.
I was gasping for air only to find it gone. The intense, agonizing grief was suffocating.
I wanted to go to sleep and never wake up.

Honestly… if I had found pills I’d have taken them – unfortunately (or fortunately I suppose) you can’t overdose on heartburn medication.

I am here ONLY because people care. These people are, in a sense… strangers.
Not related to me in any way… yet they are family (I think. I hope. I want).

For now, the only place I feel safe is here, with friends. I KNOW that should I leave, I will regress.
I also know that I must leave. It’s a difficult decision; a difficult choice.

I am certain that when I leave … it won’t be long before I succumb.

I feel like a burden.

I am told I am wanted, loved and cared about. …

…. yet all I feel – even now, as I am a little better – is placated.

I feel like I am told only what I want to hear.

I feel… handled.