Today I was reading through some old journals of mine. I've realized that when I am feeling sorry for myself now, I should actually be feeling lucky, my life has improved alot. One journal entry in particular really put this in perspective.
Blissful ignorance, where have you gone?
Who is that person.. sleeping on my living room floor?
Will you rape me
or take me away and kill me?
I don't know, I've never seen you before.
Will my mumbling mother be coherant enough to care?
She doesn't even remember how to walk,
that's why she's collapsed on the chair.
Her face is puffy and blue,
she looks disformed.
Mommy, Mommy, it's my job to save you now.
It hurts me to see you like this.
You are more.
All is well that ends well, right?
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