The day all that shit went down. Hospital visit, counselling, anti-depressants. All of it. Has it really been a year? I feel like it was so long ago. Am I doing anything special to celebrate? Celebrate what? There's nothing to celebrate. It's like an anniversary that means absolutely nothing. Just another nail in the coffin, another reminder of who I am and what I've done.
What I've become.
It almost feels like a wasted year. What have I done? I've graduated. I've gotten into college. I've dropped out of college. I've met people. At least one of them is a VIP. And it makes me happy, in some sick, twisted, perverted, self-important, personal agenda way of happy.
This is such a short come-back. Almost brings a tear to my eye.
Here's to one year, and here's to one more.
"I can't believe it's been a year, since I kissed my fears on the salty lips and said to them 'I love you all.'" - Still Searching by Senses Fail
