Watching the truths of my childhood becoming the truths of my adulthood. Love does not exist, not like it does in the fairytales most grow up on and it’s disappointing. Settling for crude groping and inappropriate comments that make my skin crawl but that I call love, gifts that only money buy because it’s too difficult to try to show any other form of love. I tell myself this is as good as it gets. It’s exhausting succumbing to this life, one that I was tired of from the moment that I could understand it’s irony and cruelty. Yet here I am still, wading through the murkiness of it all. Performing mindless tasks every moment of every day, the only time I’m alive is when I’m pouring my mind, heart and soul out to eyes that cannot comprehend where I’m coming from. I’m all alone in this world, not another like me to help make the days a bit more bearable, a bit brighter, a bit more hopeful. On days like today I am weary and ready to give up. I cannot go another moment in this repetitive existence where there is no relief. I blame it on the lapse in my medication or maybe my paranoia is valid for a change. Maybe it’s always been valid and I’ve wrongly been trying to convince myself that I’m simply crazy instead. How tragic that would be. Searching for someone to share all of the small moments with, those moments that make my heart smile slightly, those moments that break through the darkness inside and I realize I have no one, no one that truly understands at least. Maybe I’ve had a spike in my hormones and it’s putting my brain and emotions off balance or maybe I’m right and I usually only turn a blind eye to these things because the truth is so damn painful sometimes. Until I take my last breath the only thing that matters is writing these words down and hoping that they reach the right person, someone who is like me.