Between the lines

if the only way I'd stand the slightest chance at surviving the next three years is for me to forget what it means to be the person I am, if it takes losing myself and disappearing, if it means I spend most afternoons like today's where I'm bawling even as I chant shlokas with all of my being, then okay.
Sure, I might think that it'd be infinitely less emotionally draining if I were an accountant and no, I don't even know right now if I'll last.
But it's 6.45pm on a Thursday afternoon and by some miracle, I am alive. So maybe God kinda likes me.
And I'll just keep trying.

Maybe this isn't good. Maybe I'll go act on all those lovely scenes and images I've had playing out in my head as I fall asleep.
But right now I'm still alive and I don't have a knife in my arm.

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Most times, your number is the one I'm just about to dial when I feel like this. But then I tell myself it's easier if you didn't know.