the only thing I have left is the fact that I’m still breathing. I’m mean it is an exaggeration, I have a home, and food, and more than a good portion of the population. in reality, my social, and emotional states are broken. the only hope i have left is the fact that things could get better. things have to get better. I am positive, in regards to the past couple years, fuck yes I’ve been postive. the fact that I’m still here and I’m still trying is positive, I think. again out of a psych hospital, and still having some faith in myself is remarkable, right? it’s almost like I’m stick on this circular race track, and it’s in auto drive and I have to find a way to gain control and veer off, into something new, a new life and not this continuous circle of hell where I’m driving alone. I’ve lost everything to this substance. the worst part of it is, I’m scared to leave it. I’m scared I cant. I lost my support. I lost my motivation.

it’s strange where whiskey will bring you. it get worse because you lost everyone to your erratic ways, so you search for people who don’t know you, who you can convince you’re normal. they make you feel less lonely for a night, or more like for a few hours until you’re stumbling and in and out of conciousness, you have blips on the night, you wake up foggy. you remember them having their arm wrapped under your arms leading you out of the bar. you know that they are pleased at the state you’re in because your inhibitions are lowered and you’ll give yourself up. and fuck, you’re okay with it because you’re fucking lonely, you’re fucking worthless in your own mind. so you wake up, shirt still on, panties off, and you look to your left, and you see on the night stand that there is still half the pint of whiskey you bought the night before. and I swear to fuck, that that is Christmas morning to me. I contimplate and then I look to my right at a guy that I barely know. all I know is that I can’t be mad, I can’t be angry that they fucked my half lifeless body last night. because I wake up and I’m not alone. but I know that the second they wake up they will find an excuse to get me out the door, so the contimplation phase is over. and you pound that half pint of whiskey, and then I close my eyes for about a minute and when I re open them, the familiar blur is there, the calmness. I’m okay to be alone with it.

and that had been my life for the past year. you have to think, fuck this girls head is so screwed up. and I have to wonder if I’ll ever get it together. if I’ll ever find something or someone to keep me going again. I’ve allowed myself to be abused in every sense of the word, emotionally, physically, sexually. and how do I come back from it. sometimes I think I cant, sometimes I think trying is a waste of fucking time. but then I end up in a situation where I meet other people, I get the chance to meet people that are so fragile, who are so hurt. I get to see their souls, and their beautiful hearts that have been shredded. and I’m not alone, and we are not horrible people, we are not outcasts. we weren’t born hurt, broken, scarred. and I guess, when I think about it, we all have reasons to give up, and these people I meet in institutions and meetings and groups, they didn’t deserve to want give up, and if we all did none of us would have the support and understanding.

alot of you don’t understand, and you stigmatize. I couldn’t tell you to imagine walking in our shoes because you’re imagination couldn’t conjure up these feelings. I’m a life and I deserve a chance, and understanding.