Breathing, but only because I promised I wouldn’t stop.

I feel like I’m only alive because I promised I wouldn’t leave. Not for me, but for the people I love. I’ve seen what suicide does to the ones left behind. I’ve stood in the wreckage, felt the emptiness, watched the ripple of pain that never really fades. I told myself I’d never do that to anyone. I promised. And I’ll keep that promise.

But now, it feels like I’m living for everyone else. Just floating through days that don’t feel like mine, treading water in a sea that keeps pulling me under. I don’t even know if I want to be here anymore.

I’m tired. Not the kind of tired sleep can fix, but the kind that lives in your bones. It’s a weight on my chest, this sadness I can’t shake. It presses against my ribs, behind my eyes, in the corners of my thoughts. I carry it everywhere, but no one really sees it.

I don’t even know what I’m asking for. Maybe nothing. Maybe I just needed to say it out loud before it drowns me completely. I’m still here. I just wish I knew how to make that mean something.