Why, can I not find it in myself to get out of this mess I have made? I didn’t make the entire mess, I just helped along the mess that was presented to me. I could have handled it so much better. Really, how can I be 30 and feel as if my life is over? What drive makes me want to continue? Hope, such little hope, there is left. So many things I want to do, but I have no means to accomplish them. Maybe my mother is right all along. How would it feel to a mother to have such an incredible screw up for a child? Obviously. Compare myself and my sibling. His biggest problem is a young dog that has issues staying calm. I am sure there are more things that lurk under the surface, but nothing that can even compare to myself.
I want to disappear, under an assumed name, and take up an entire new life with the only one person who truly loves me, all of me, no matter how bad it is. I want to hide away in a foreign land and just live and experience life and be free and happy. I want out. I want out so badly. The means by which it happens is just completely indistinct.
