Mending Journals

The lengths my mind and body will go to, to see me suffer and to keep me living. Immeasurable. 

When there is good in my life, it decays faster than it ever arrived. Because I rip it apart, I swear I do. Because what should make me happy, what everyone else seems so happy with, it kills me. It eats away at me, it bites. 

When there is bad in my life, I lose myself entirely. I shut down, and with me goes my ability to be emotional. I lose the energy to mask, I lose the power to cry, I lose the power to mourn. I can't feel a fucking thing. 

And now, there is good and bad in my life. And though it seems like it should bring me balance, it has given me internal warfare. 

It is torture being here, in this world with this body and this brain. Still, I couldn't be anyone else.