sometimes my life feels like one of those houses on hoarders. stuffed through the cracks with garbage and memories and so much fucking baggage i cant even lay down. and i'll never be ale to get it clean enough to share with another person. no one can know how messy my mind is. and its almost like i keep settling on suicide because i just can't get anywhere else. . is life worth it or is it not? will i ever change? will i ever get back the people i've pushed away ?why the fuck are we here? how does anything ever matter? and we can't take things to hard, because life is short anyway and never promised. i wish i could imagine something better. i wish death didnt keep surfacing in my head, like whales coming up for air.