I'm depressed, yet content. Peaceful, yet stricken with conflict. My hairs greasy, my hands clammy, eyes burning. My addictions over, yet somehow still lurks in the back of my mind. Inching me further and further towards the edge. The ones I love are dying off, and that's sort of okay at this point. Some of them have been dead for a while now, mentally at least. Time for new friends? Too late, I'm already too attached. And three little word cross my mind now and again: Fuck. This. Life. It's over before it began, and the worst things it's all my fault. No one to blame, and no place to hide. I have no pride, and I haven't for years. I'll hide behind my happy little exterior facade I put up, so nobody knows. I've been taken advantage of enough. I sound bitter and angry, and I know that. You know why? Because I am. Plain and Simple. I've had far too many setbacks for a freaking teenager, and they keep coming, each time more and more hard to overcome. When will there ever be ease in my life? Probably never. And that's okay. I'm adjusted. That doesn't mean I like it, it just means I can put up with it. And it's not like some sort of American Dream story either. I'm getting nothing from this. And I mean nothing. But screw it all anyways. I've got myself, God, and strength. That's all I need.