Wednesday, 23 August 2017


I don't know what my life holds in store. I have no idea. But yesterday I felt hope. Hope that it could be good things. A tiny sliver of hope. Hope for a future.

And now I'm scared. I'm scared all I'll ever have is hope for a better tomorrow. I'm scared that hope will flicker and die. I'm scared it already has gone out. I'm scared yesterday was the last bit of hope exploding from the dying star of my future.

I'm scared.

I'm scared I won't survive this bout of hopelessness. I'm scared my brain weasels will kill me. I'm scared that I can't withstand this tidal wave of numbness and sadness and emptiness.

And yet, I'm not ready to give up. I'm holding on to this memory of hope. I'm clinging to the tiniest chance that things do get better.

I want my future. I want ti to be happy. I want it to be bright. Hopeful. Joyous. I want a good future that is mine.

I want my degree. I want a life partner. I want a million new beginnings. I want to flirt with boys. I want to kiss girls. I want to kiss and flirt with people who don't fit into our narrow binary idea of gender. I want kids. I want a big family with aunts, cousins and great grandparents.

I want hope and joy and laughter and love.

I want to live.

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