I'm tired.

I'm writing this while I contemplate on taking my own life.

People might think I'm weak for having that thought, but even the strongest thing has its end.

You may think, "How can she be unhappy? She has all these fun adventures with people, this wisdom that comes with experience."

My dear, it takes a ton of stories for you to filter out the best ones. My wisdom comes from hurt, betrayal, disappointment, slander, and everything else that came my way not to make me feel better, but for other people to feel great.

As for many times, I have compared my life to a blacksmith that pounded on to me until I have become what I am today-- with steel as willful, with a tongue that's sharp, with a handle as reliable, I have become a sword.

As I bare myself more than talks of the skin, I tell you, yes YOU, one of my readers, that my life is colorful, yet it was never easy.

I've met a lot of people because I don't wanna feel more lonely than I am at home. My heart aches, as my mind and my body grows tired. I am steel turning into stone.

I stay up at night for only for a few hours my mind is at peace. The solitude I get makes me look forward to seeing the sun rise in a few hours.

They say people who work hard have calloused hands, I don't. Not because I don't work hard, I do. But at the end of the day, if I don't let my hands rest to the point that they're calloused, who would take care of me then? If they've grown numb, shaky, and weak?

But if you see my feet, that's where you'd see them. Calloused soles.

From standing up for myself. From walking away from my home. From pacing thinking about what to do next.

My mind wonders, "when will I ever have the chance to put my feet up?"

"I am tired."

"But I am not weak."

Mentally. Emotionally. Physically. Even spiritually.

I am tired.