There is no happiness in this view of life.
There is only this cold, perpetual discomfort.
There are days when I doubt my ability to keep myself alive.
Days when the breath within my lungs is the only thing motivating me to keep going.
People are wrong.
Time heals nothing.
The loneliness only intensifies.
This dark potential locked away within myself grows stronger with every minute of every day.
But...so does the hope.
The hope that one day things will be better for all of us.
The hope that those who are to come after us will not have to suffer as we have.
The hope that my writings might help those who share in this misery to feel even marginally less alone.
It is a hope that overrides all other compulsions.
So...I must regulate.
I must keep myself in check.
I must stay alive.
I did not ask for this.
This is not what I wanted from my life.
But there is truth now.
The confusion is gone.
There is no more fear.
There is truth.
And there is clarity.
How could I go back?
How could I ever go back?