This is it.

Is this it? 

I imagined I’d have this whole file holder for each kid with a note for each stage of their lives like the P.S. I Love You shit. I’d write a letter to every person who needed it. I’d write a formal thing for all clients/KIC needs. I’d write a packet of “need to know” for the barrel. Not that anyone I’d leave them for would do the things I wish, but the sense of control I assumed I’d have for this too. 

What’s stopping me? A gun I guess. For a short answer. 

A longer answer? Thinking of them waking up in the morning and not understanding that I’m gone. Them forever thinking they did something or could of done something different to keep me here. 

..why is everything so god damn fucking heavy? I feel like I’ve been pleading for help for over a year, and I haven’t gotten it. Or maybe enough of it. Maybe there’ll never be enough. Why am I alive when my brain operates the way it does and I can’t fucking fix it? Why can’t I get footing in this fucking world? Why have I fucked up everything good I’ve done in the past? How can things be just so fucking bad, but I have these two beautiful innocent girls. Why can I just not walk away from everything? 

There’s just never a good time to kill yourself.