I keep reading books and feeling jealousy towards the characters. Imaginary people who get to fall in love and make lifelong friendships and do meaningful, fantastical things. I’ll finish a chapter, look around at my own life, and wish I wasn’t forced to be in it. Like, I don’t want to die. I don’t want to cease living. I just want to be in a new life. I read once that people that are suicidal don’t want to end their lives, they just want out of their current circumstances. I guess that’s true. I’d like to be a character in a book, it hurts to know I spend all my time writing and reading to hide from my own shit
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