My goal: Make it to fifteen.

One year to go.

Twelve whole months.

But can I do it?

I question myself.

The question isn’t because I sit here in my hospital bed.

With an illness that no one can help with.

With no one who can fix me.

With machines beeping.

With doctors giving me fake sympathy looks.

Is it because I know people want me gone?

No one wants me.

Is it because I know people’s lives wouldn’t change if I left?

No one cares.

Is it because I only saw my family the moment I was diagnosed?

Two flowers, one kiss, eight smirks, then gone.

It could be that.

Or is it because I can’t ever be normal?

No one understands.

Is it because I will never fit in?

No one takes interest in what I wear or what I like.

Is it because I would still be the freak, the weirdo?

No one could look at me for longer than nine seconds.

Possibly.

Maybe, is it because I have no plan?

No future.

Is it because I have nowhere to go?

No friends, no family.

Is it because I can’t do anything with my life?

Nothing but sitting, being useless.

I don’t think I can do it.

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QOTD: What do you do when your feeling sad?

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