Hope

1

I don't even feel comfortable anymore, I mean who would after what happened.

It have been at least three months since I had that breakdown,

Three months of emptiness and solitude.

Three months and continuing of talking to a man that thinks I'll get over it.

Three months of staying up till sunrise trying to find a reason to close my eyes.

Three months of unwanted moments replaying in my memory that I wished would stop.

Three months of popping "happy pills" in hopes that I'll be normal.

Three months of my mother looking at me and treating me as if I was transparent.

Three months of family members disregarding it, telling me to pray it away.

Three months of unanswered messages.

Three months of wishing I'll be okay only to be faced with the harsh reality.

Three months of looking at my scarred knuckles and cut up wrists.

Three months of pure anger and exhaustion.

Three months of nightmares.

Three months of listening to the voice that became my closest friend.

Three months of believing I am my illness.

And still believing so