Grey

Life is so fucking unbearable at times. Nothing is for certain.

Many people grown up thinking that unconditional love comes naturally from their parents, then their parents beat them or molest them or are too caught up in what's happening for them they don't realize they are allowing someone else to. You go to school, you socialize, you learn human behavior, you're disappointed by human behavior, you have best friends you have boyfriends or girlfriends, you lose some you win some. You're heart gets broken, you learn a few things, you do a few bad things. It's suppose to be this journey, it's suppose to be a learning experience, the end is suppose to justify the means.

What happens when it doesn't? What happens when you grow up envisioning what you're life is going to be like, and it turns out you don't have any of it? What happens when you do all this gut wrenching, soul vomiting, someone put your body through a meat grinder without an anesthetic, hard work, and you still feel just as lost and lonely only more complicated? Life throws you lemons so you make lemonade? Fuck that shit. The universe only gives you what you can handle? Fuck that shit.

I've spent 31 years on this earth, everyday trying to thank whoever is responsible for all the beauty in this world, and still everyday not knowing if I'm doing "the right" thing. Everyday I'm unsure of myself. Everyday I'm saddened by the ways of this world. By really good people dieing of cancer, of babies being born addicted to drugs or being beaten and killed, of woman selling their bodies for sex, of animals being tied up and left for dead, of some stranger barging in your home and stealing your hard earned things or raping or beating or killing you and your family. I'm sickened, I'm scared and I'm completely fucking baffled. I grew up feeling lonely and displaced, I grew up not wanting to live the way I had seen, I grew up wanting to be something great. Even if by great it meant a great friend, or a great painter, or a great doctor, I had these really high hopes for myself. Instead I have this heart that feels to big for my chest, that feels too heavy to be real. I don't wonder why people commit suicide, I don't wonder why people turn to drugs and alcohol. I wonder what you're suppose to do when every day hurts, when everyday you cry because you're not who you wanted to be. Why when the things that keep you up all night aren't even real or because you still feel guilty for making your mother by you a toy she couldn't afford.

I've spent 31 years trying to grow up, trying to learn, trying to be better and trying to accept myself for who I am and what I've been through. Still I just go to bed panicked, still I see what I assume is a struggling mother and cry in grocery stores, still I listen to a song that gives me temporary release, still I stare at the floor speechless and wonder if my brain is the correct shape.

My biggest accomplishment is that I'm still breathing, and it fucking hurts.