Thursday 15 December 2011

Nine Lives.

Chances, how many do we get? If I was a cat, I don't think I'd have any lives left. I've died over and over again. And they don't see, see how much this disease hurts me. People with physical illnesses, they get help, they get sympathy. And I'm not asking for everybody or anybody to pander to my every need, just for people to show me a little more love and a little less hatred. Because I'm trying my hardest. But they don't care, apparently now I'm on this end of the scale it's all okay now. Apparently I'm expected to go out and get on with everything, it's not always so easy. I know that other people suffer too, and I know that so many people have it worse than I do, but that doesn't take it away, it doesn't make anything better at all. If anything it just makes me feel a whole lot worse. More people suffer and more people cry, how many people get to go to sleep soundly and happily at night? Not I.

-8th December 2011

No comments:

Post a Comment