dreamland

thirty-eight

I don't think I'm getting better.

It's just lies.

I want to get out of that room, out of my own stupid head and out of this world. When I talk to her, my therapist, it feels like if I'm driving around in circles around the same tree. I want there to be other trees and other flowers and grass. I don't want to talk about this anymore. Not to her, not to my best friend or my mom or my dad. It's overbearing and it feels like if I'm being smothered.

I should be angry at him but now I'm just angry at god for giving me this life that I could not handle. If he is so perfect, then why does it feel as if he's made the worst of mistakes putting me here. He's made a mistake. He has. I want to talk to him but now I am convinced he doesn't exist. I wonder if when we die there is neither a hell or heaven but just a moment of pure white like snow at midnight that then transforms and morphs into your birth day of your next life. I hope that is true. I have no evidence of that to be true but I hope it is true. Just onto the next life that just has the benefit of the doubt.