Notes

There is no medicine for this sickness, there is no cure for this disease. It’s worse than any other form of pain because it will always linger around and I can’t do anything about it. They say it’ll get better and how I should find my happiness once more but how can I be happy when the only thing that made me smile is what's hurting me. I always find myself forgetting about those who try to help him since I'm forever missing him. Everything I hear is all the same and so cliche when I'm being hurt in so many different ways. The words you speak don't register in me, they go in one ear and straight out the other. You can't help me, I can't help me. I try to change but what is there to rearrange? Who am I to change myself for? I'm already so imperfect, so stupid, so gullible, so broken. I can't function properly in this poorly constructed structure of flawed cells. I'm just another face in the crowd, one microscopic life in this world surrounded by ranks and status. The longer I am alive, the harder it is for ot