Gone With The Wind

Hope is something that they say resides deep inside all of us, a tiny spark that persuades us to live. It does not live in me. I am dead.

I have given up hope that anything besides the cutting, anorexia, lying, addictions, etc. will help me cope with my past. Day after day I end up curled in a ball, fighting off tears and the demons in my mind, the memories. I talk to people about it, and they tell me they care, but they can tell I don't believe them. And why should I? Why would anyone in this godd**n f**king world care about me? And so I lie and tell them that I know I can trust them and talk to them. But in reality, my reality has been torn away, pulled away by the breeze, gone forever with the wind.....