I feel used. I feel unsteady, I feel forgotten. Anxiety has taken its roots. The voices that scream I’m unworthy, unlovable, unnecessary. The voice that’s louder than any other.
What’s the point in feeling if there’s there’s no where to go but down?
What is the point in talking if all you are is wrong? What’s the point of existing if all you are is a burden?
The pain I feel is real, but it’s too heavy to hold on my own.
What’s the point of strength if it will just burn you out? Why should I bother staying “clean”, trying not to drink, trying to get my shit together? What’s the point if I’ll never be good enough?
What is the point of all of this pain?
I feel like a punching bag for the world. A place to go for people to come and take what they need.
I’m more than your punching bag, universe.
I’m fighting my own fight here and I’m trying to stay alive.
Funny, that voice just got a little quieter.