I’m standing on the rooftop looking over the edge. My life feels slow and gray. I have no willpower and no motivation and I can never seem to do anything right. I think I’ve been like this for longer than I’d realized. I look down, the wind blowing through my hair. Part of me wants to jump. But I’m also scared. The only bits of joy I have now are rare, brief, and always reliant on alcohol. I hear the door to the rooftop open and I freeze.
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