Insufferable Me

No one stopped to ask me how I'm doing today.

Not in the traditional sense of "how are you doing"... More like "HOW are YOU doing". 

There's a subtle difference in a general salutation and an otherwise question of mental health or stability.

And I get it.

We're all going through something or another.

I feel a certain sadness and loss of identity.

I'm silent and internal and unsure how to be open. 

My threshold for patience is being tested by my situational nuisances and my vices are out of control.

I'm doing my best, but it's not quite good enough.

I see the disappointment other have of me. 

I feel the burden I've become.

I'm desperate to sleep.

I'm desperate to stop breathing.

Moments pass by and I'm reflective and dismissive and judgemental for my lack of personage in a society that does not see me.

Regardless of how big or loud I am.

I'm outwardly passive.

I'm screaming from the inside.

"Where the fuck are you?"

Sometimes you can find me at the bottom of a bottle.

Some days, I'm gorging until my stomach aches.

I'm still trying to breathe, even when I'm holding my breath. 

It's living.

But it's killing me.