I’ve spent so much time enslaved by helpless misery, I don’t know that I know how to be happy anymore, or to love.

It was only someone who hurt me inexplicably that meant so much to me. To have the lies dashed laying only truth bare was more crippling than I expected.

No one deserves the good in me, I think. I don’t feel loved, I don’t feel hope right now. I just am here. The last vestiges of belief in getting better dissolve, and I don’t want to reach for the ladder anymore.

I am loved, that’s the problem. I don’t feel the same elation and comfort and optimism that I once bore. Like it means nothing to me. How selfish and cruel.

In the center of a grand parade and all these gifts meant to be absorbed, and used, and it feels empty, and hollow. Like nothing.



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