At some point, you have to decide.
Because sometimes people die.
And sometimes people move on, loved ones move on.
Sometimes it’s just the natural migration of humankind, the diverging and merging of people in and through your life.
Sometimes, good friends step off the ride because your depression is depressing them. Or, they need to step away from your shit to make room for their shit.
Sometimes, people just leave.
Sometimes it happens smoothly, almost surgically. You almost don’t notice at first, and then when you do, it’s like
“Ah. Oh, well. Okay.”
And sometimes, the leaving is like your chest has been opened up with a dull hatchet and now instead of a heart, you have a dirty bomb made of barbed wire and napalm that goes off with every-other breath.
At some point, you have to decide to live.
Once you make that choice, however tenuously, however blindly, however many times you take it back and then have to remake that choice, and even if sometimes you think maybe you’re making that choice only because the people that you love are already going through hell and you don’t want to add to their pain, even then, once you decide to live, life begins.
You may not see it happening for a while, blinded as you are, pain, rage and fear screaming in your face. At first, you will have to seek it out every single day. You will have to find your own way. It may be that the best you can do is hope for the sun to rise, and when it does, say to yourself, “See? Told you.”