I believed I was doomed, cursed, the owner of a ruined life. But I’m no longer sure. I have a roof over my head. My belly is full. Losing everything you knew isn’t the end of the world. Is death? Who knows! All I’m sure of is I’m still breathing. And the only thing to do is live.
And I need all the reasons I can find not to hate myself. But it’s hard. Even the idea makes me shiver. Because I see loving myself like looking down on others. Riding around on a high horse. And I never want to think I’m better then the people I see on the street. The ones who have it rough. The ones who don’t fit in. The ones I see my own face in.
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