I’m a million different people from one day to the next

People talk about missing the person they once were. About how if a particular situation didn’t occur, their life would be so much different.

I barely can comprehend such a notion.

As much as I can dream of a life I wish existed, it does not bode well to envision anything I could be other than who I am now.

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I wouldn’t want to go back in time.

Moments maybe. But never to relive a year, a period, that was once what people term “happier” days.

I am a walking contradiction. In the fact that I am happy, and sad, and in anguish, in anger, in peace; in many many feelings at one given moment and 10 seconds later I have moved on to another emotion that at times overpower me with such frightful fear I constantly believe I might be psychotic, or even delusional.

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On suicide, a friend was told me that she could never bear the thought of ever jumping off a building. The horror that remains with the people who witness the remains of your body.

A year later, they found her body broken at odd angles on the ground.

Which didn’t mean anything to what was left of her soul.

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Another friend on suicide told me, don’t wake up regretting your choices.

But I guess all I can say is,

call me a safe bet, i’m betting i’m not

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