"Hey"
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WpMetadataNoticeLast published Fri, Apr 5, 2019
Entries. Like a journal. But a book. Feelings. On paper. In one way or another. The blossoming flowers from a withering tree. How can a world be as lost as ours? How can humanity take something so beautiful and rip it out from the roots? How can someone tell others who to be and what to be? Who gave them the right? We live in a broken world. Where lives are lost every day in result of tragedy. Where people are broken done to the core and all that's left is to disintegrate to dust. To fly away with the wind. And to end up as nothing at all. We start from nothing and we go back to nothing. But what about the space in between? Shouldn't we have a say in the matter? These entries are from my heart and I hope will change the way some people see things. Emotions are real. People are real. So why are we treated like we don't exist?
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"There comes a point where you no longer care if there's a light at the end of the tunnel or not. You're just sick of the tunnel." - Who I am doesn't matter. How I got here doesn't matter. What matters now is I'm getting help, right? That's what they tell me here. They tell me that the road to recovery feels like a terrible butt fuck, but the fact that you're on the path to begin with, is all that matters. So as I sit in this circle of fuck ups, I realize just how different I am from them. I didn't attempt suicide because my mother was a crack addict who didn't want me. My father wasn't abusive. I didn't have a sibling die in a car accident. I was never really bullied either. I attempted suicide because, for the first time in years, I thought I had found something that could make me feel again... and after not feeling much at all for far too long, perhaps I went a bit overboard

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