She slowly opened the small leather journal he left on his night stand beside their picture together, to the last page where his last entry was. It was written in extremely messy penmanship as if he was being rushed. As her tears splattered down on to the worn pages, with a heavy heart, she read the nearly incoherent entry.
(i don't know what date it is today im sorry), 2014
if theres one thing ive learned, its that hell isnt a place.
there will never be one place where all the demons and bad things and thoughts and pasts are contained.
there will always be something positive shining through that place.
it could be someone or something you love;
there is no such thing as a physical hell.
because hell is a feeling.
its when you feel all the shame and guilt and anger and sadness and frustration stir inside of you and you think its just too much
too much for you to handle and you just want to end it
because hell is where you get consumed by all your terrible and dark thoughts,
its where you give up everything, its where it all ends, its where you break.
because hell is your breaking point.
its where i am
and im drowning
and im gasping for air
and i want to let go
and i want to scream
and i want to cry
and i want to run away from it
because i cant find my way out.