“I could barely get out of bed, my limbs were so heavy. I was compulsively picking at my fingers until they were bloody, burning, and painful. I was showing up for my life without really being there, dragging myself through every day. The idea of getting in the car to drive for 90 minutes to Boston in order to see a therapist—I had seen so many over the years—was overwhelming. I longed to sleep and never wake up, but I was too scared of what eternal hell might lay on the other side of suicide.”
Follow Sara at https://saraschley.com/
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