I keep trying to get better, because everyone tells me that I’m sick. That I have a mental disease that can kill me.
So I try again and again.
But I always end up right back here.
I guess I belong here. With the sick and the troubled; the lost and let down. I’m just a sick person looking for what? Happiness? Self worth? Validation? I don’t have a clue. But I do know that I belong with the fallen. I’m here with the people who, even though they’ve never met me, understand me. I’m with those who have given up, who have realized that there’s nothing left to live for, and no matter how many doctors or specialists I see, I know.
This is where I belong. This is where I will always be.