Here I am, still sitting alone, still staring at the empty pages, reading between the non-existent lines trying to make sense of all of this, this entire life. Tried to get everything right, didn't I? But nothing, nothing ever works out, nothing ever adds up.
I'm just so tired of everything slipping out of my fingers every time. Of having to check myself whether I made a mistake or not. Whether I'm making everyone feel good or not. Not for once does anyone ever stop to ask me whether I am doing okay or not. Whether I am comfortable or happy. Never.
I'm just tired of putting up with so much of everyone's garbage for the moment. Maybe it is time to let go, once and for all. For too long have I refused to feel like the victim, the absolute victim. But the darkness around the edges of the bed suggests maybe, just maybe I really am one.
[And yes, there's a reason why this is not up on the secret blog].