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I’m slowly starting to accept the life that has been given to me. For many years, I’ve fought the fact that I haven’t had a mother there to comfort me in a hospital bed or a father that comes around more than a couple times a week. People have it worse, but that, that doesn’t matter. People will always have it worse than you do, but that doesn’t make our feelings any less; it just puts everything into perspective, I suppose.
We are all born with the capability to love, to laugh, and to try to enjoy the life we are given. Sadly, some of us are faced with obstacles and yeah, some of us tripped and fell. Cheers to the ones that got back up and kept running the race. And cheers, to all of you beautiful creatures that are still finding a way to gain the strength to get back on your feet. I know how hard it is. I know that it feels like you’re broken in every sense of the word; and you might be.
I’ve been alive for the better part of seventeen years. Many years of my life were a blur; not because I was so young, that I couldn’t remember. But, because I’ve had to repress it all. It has taken me seventeen long, almost-completely-awful years to figure out that you cannot make homes out of human beings. You can create your own family out of the odds and ends of other people, but no matter how comforting his or her voice is, no matter how warm his arms are, you cannot make homes out of these people. The foundation of another person, will never be strong enough to carry your brokenness.
Sleep is a hard thing to achieve at 2 A.M. when your head is spinning 100 miles per hour. But I’ll keep trying.
Concerts. Lots of concerts.