It Hurts Because

It hurts because I have no right to pain, in a world where others suffer so much more than I do.

It hurts because I don't want to remember, but am told I have to do exactly that in order to move forward in a healthy way.

It hurts because the longer I allow myself to suffer, the less my children can be around me to watch my life happen. My children are the only reason I am alive, know how to love, or have any patience.

It hurts because at its worst, I want to slam my fist into my reflection and use the shards of glass to fashion a new face, one that matches the terror I feel when I look at myself.

It hurts because my childhood friends are becoming afflicted by illnesses over which they have no control and have adversely changed, and probably will shorten, their lives. My illness is mental, and therefore, I should be able to control it, right? Yet every day I make the choice to suffer instead of get better. While my friends don't even have that choice to make. That one is really destroying me right now.

It hurts because I want so much to want to get better.

But I don't.