I caught a glimpse of a beautiful life. Nothing had lost its glow and love spread like wildfire. There is a vacant home that holds my heart. It still holds memory; much more bitter now than sweet.
[you know, every now and then I’ll be reminded of a frame of my I used to have and honestly… it’s like a slap in the fucking face. I never wanted to grow content with feeling miserable, but it’s either finding contentment in my misery or attempting to kill myself again… and that’s not an option]
When did I become so jaded? Bipolar disorder goes unmedicated, but I’m still not my father. Addicted to my mania until it gets me into trouble.
What a disappointment I must be to anyone who’s ever tried to love me. I’ve always been my own worst enemy. I used to have something to offer, but now I’m just a burden with a long lost desire for finding worth.