I have no intent. I have no reason to live, that's all. When I'm gone, I don't want to be remembered.

I close my eyes and black out the day. The exhaustion of living through it, surviving.

They didn't guarantee you'd come out a whole person.

Me? I had no dreams. No longings. Dreams only set you up for disappointment. Plus, you had to have a life to have dreams of a better life.

I don't have to answer. Until you know the question.

What will I become? Because I won't be me any longer. That will be a relief. I dont want to be the helpless person I've always been.

The truth remains. I was, and am, disgusted with myself.