If you were to ask me when was I ever truly happy, I genuienly don’t think I could give you an answer at least not an honest one. Sure, I’m not going to lie I’ve been more fortunate than others. I’ve been lucky enough to travel and have a good family but it just never seems enough, does it? For as long as I can remember, I’ve felt like there’s something missing, that there’s something really wrong here. It goes beyond the feeling of helplessness and loneliness, the revulsion I feel when I look in the mirrow, it’s something else that no matter how hard I try I can never really express in words. Maybe it’s a darkness that we all have, but some experience more than others? Some days its like I feel everything, I try so hard not to because I say I don’t care but the truth is maybe I care more than I thought was humanly possible. Other days I care about nothing, I’m mean and dark and it feels like any compassion I had has left me. Somedays I really feel like I’m on the brink of losing my mind, I feel like there’s an edge and I’m so close to falling off. Or when I look in the mirror its not me looking back but someone else. She’s watching me, waiting, whispering in my ear all the things I don’t wanna hear! She’s the real me, and the fake me all in one. I’m scared to live, I’m scared to breath, I’m sacred to die and yet at any one moment I want all these things and nothing at all. I’m a contridiction to the very core of its meaning and I don’t no how much longer I can keep trudging through the dirt to try and find the light. Why does life and death both seem so welcoming and so unimaginably scary at the same time? I don’t know I’m just rambling as usual! I never said I was a poet!