Most times I wake up in the middle of the night and cry that the day is coming and that I’m alive.

Most times I look back on little moments that broke through my panic… they weren’t real long but they are a thing.

Many times I relate to no one because death, hospitalization, and tragedy are always near to me and far from the rest.

Many times I’m alone. Many times I’m ready to go. I’m never really here, I never feel good, I never think I’m ok. There is no help. There is no goal for me.