The Book of the Dead.

I tend to oscillate from sadness to anger real quickly.
That is if I feel anything at all.

Then there are days where there is just emptiness or numbness, a complete indifference to it all, and those are my good days.

My only comfort besides writing has been my thoughts, however dark.
The thought that my suffering is not forever, that everything comes to an end sooner or later.
The thought I have every night, the one that stays with me; maybe this time when I close my eyes it will finally be over, and I won't open them again.

I just feel like I am waiting on the ending of this book, the final chapter of this absurd drama, the last song in this sick soundtrack that is my life.