Getting There

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I hate it when people worry about me.
HATE IT.

I feel so guilt ridden.
Such intense shame.

PLEASE don’t worry about me – I PROMISE I will never choose suicide over life.

I have promised the soul of a 9 year old boy
that I will not let suicide be his family legacy.

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My insomnia is so heightened at the mo.
Can’t sleep at night,
and can’t get up in the mornings.

Then today,
I started moving out of sheer fear.

A friend was coming to see me to say “Merry Christmas”,
and she was bringing her Mum.

Holy shit-burgers Batman.
I live in a hovel
and now someone’s Mum was going to see it!!!

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Yep - this is suppose to be a place where you prepare food to eat. Not so much?!?

Yep – this is suppose to be a place where you prepare food to eat.
Not so much?!?

Not a snowballs chance in hell.

So I spent a good three hours,
* emptying boxes
* recycling
* chucking rubbish
* vacuuming
* steam cleaning lino floors
* bagging up clothes for the Salvos

And it still looks like a shit-tip,
but the hallway is clean.
Kinda!

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