#splucksjournal

[spluckwrites]

When is it my turn to live my life.

[spluckwrites]

Why can't I feel and want like a normal person. Why does it hurt so bad but feel so empty.

[spluckwrites]

What I hate about my father the most, is that he left me with this void I tried to fill so desperately I let people use me. That even now I lay alone in bed and it hurts so much because I ache for that missing piece.

[spluckwrites]

I think what scares me about getting help is that I have to start over, Ive lived forever with these issues being a part of me. Ive depended on them to make decisions, and what happens when they're gone. Who am I when all Ive ever been is mentally ill?

[spluckwrites]

I hate that I dont know how to feel. That this thing that comes naturally to so many people is so difficult for me.

[spluckwrites]

Its always "Thank you for stepping up" always "You're so strong" but its never "Im sorry for doing this to you" never "You shouldn't have to deal with this"

[spluckwrites]

Despite my outward pessimism, I find that inside I have this hope that my life will get better. That I will wake up happy one day, that my dream of having a husband and a child and a nice life will be real. Maybe thats why it feels like a stab in the gut every time my bad luck manifests, how anytime I try to improve some new thing happens. It feels like a reminder that this is the life I deserve.

[spluckwrites]

My hands are bloodied and dirty from constantly clawing at the edge of the pit, finding thet every time Im progressing it just gets deeper. At some point you lose hope of actually getting out, instead just continuing to claw knowing all you can do is not sink to the bottom.