I hate when people ask me if I’m okay, or how I’m feeling. The answer is so loaded and I’ve never been a good liar. So, I nod and say, “Fine,” because it’s such a basic answer that it has no meaning, anymore.
I hate waking up every morning to rush to a job I hate. And people say, “Well, just quit,” as though I don’t have loans and hospital bills waiting for me and whispering taunts when I try to sleep at night.
They say, “It get better,” but does it? I’m almost 30 and I’ve been dealing with this outcast, abnormal bullshit since I was […]