Me and My Illness

I’m empty, bitter, and cold. I’ve made mistakes that are now so old. But they live within me, no matter how hard I try to let them go.

I can’t decide whether I even have enough tears to cry. Another day seems like another lifetime. I don’t know what to do or what to say. I guess God made me to feel this way. I don’t blame God. But I don’t know why It made me the way I am today.

Why did I get tortured and beaten and practically thrown away? Was I born to be garbage? Was I born to be a nobody? Why was I born to walk the earth so unsteadily?
I’m concerned with my life as much as my family. As much as my friends need me I can’t be there when they need me the most. I’m wrapped up in myself. I feel selfish and ashamed.

But I keep going no matter how painful. No matter how crude life is to me. No matter how much my mother can beat me down. No matter how much people don’t understand. No matter how much suffering there is at once. No matter how heavy the burden. No matter how little trust there is to find.

I keep living. My heart keeps beating. My brain keeps functioning.

There is no on or off switch in this fucked up world. Well, in this mental hospital called a world. It’s one decision in itself.

Life or death?