As I lay in silence, I think of death.

   I am so tired. I feel as though I've just woken from hibernation, but my exhaustion is not remedied, and my obligations have not left. I want to sleep for weeks, months, years. I don't want to die; there is so much I want to do, but even those things feel like they're a part of some distant life, something that could never actually take place. I wish the pressure would come off. I feel trapped under a mound of expectations and I'm suffocating. Maybe I want my life to vanish, just to never have existed from the start. Sometimes, I'll walk along the road at night and listen to the cars go past, praying that one will hit me, so I can stop living this tiring life. This way, my mother won't believe she should have seen the signs of depression that led to my suicide.
   I crave emptiness. It is comforting, and it will be mine.

   Take care,
   Emeline