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Sometimes I try to retrace my steps. I try to go back in time and pin point the date that it happened. But I can never find anything. No abuse, no rape, no traumatic death in the family. I’m just fucked up. And I
just keep getting more fucked up. I’m just on this constant downward spiral and I can’t stop it. It’s like falling into a fucking black hole.
I wish I could remember a reason. I really do wish there was a reason for everything that has happened to me. Or that I have done to myself. Either way, I wish there was a reason. But there isn’t. I wish there was a place I could start. Every story should have a beginning and an end. Mine doesn’t.
But late at night, I do stay up sometimes and think. I think about a lot of things, things I don’t usually like to think about. But I stay up, I think about them, and I ask myself why.
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