Sep 27, 2011 03:48
My Brother Has No Idea That He Hurt Me, Let Alone How Infected The Wound Has Become Or How Deep It Runs.
A Long Time Ago When I Was A Little Girl, Even Though The Knife Of Abuse Cut Away Huge Chunks Of My Heart, Mind And Soul, All Three Were Pretty Elastic, And I Had Such Hopes For A Happy And Meaningful Life. When I First Became Seriously Ill With The PCOS, I STILL Retained A Very Important Thing, Hope. Now As My Body Falls Apart, The Strongest Desire, To Be Loved And Excepted By My Family, Remains As Much Out Of Grasp As Ever.
I Don't Understand, And I'm Kicking And Screaming The Whole Way Down. I'm Angry, I'm Torn Up Fairly Badly Inside, And I'm Biding My Time Until My Obligations Are Over. Sometimes I'm So Tired, And Always I'm So Broken. When My Body Was More Responsive, And My Mind Was Holding Together (Barely, But Still), I Still Had Hopes.
These Last Several Months I've Lost Those Last Threads Of Hope. Anger And Desperation Are Still There, And I Wish They'd Give Up Too.
I'm So Tired, Sleep Seems Resistant, And I Wish I Didn't Care Or Feel So Much.