I used to have hope, I used to have purpose.  I don’t need to tell the story of what happens next, because you’ve heard it all before. He brought me up, only to bring me down further than I had began. He broke me, he crushed me.
Blah, Blah, Blah.
There was no hope left in me, I had no purpose. I was angry and hated myself because I couldn’t find a way to resolve this, couldn’t find a way to become whole again. I cut with determination, I sobbed and screamed at night with frustration.
You’ve heard it all before
Blah, Blah, Blah.
I remain without hope, I remain without purpose. But i am not angry. I am not sad. I feel nothing inside. It is a curse, but beautiful within itself. because I do not with to be hopeful, I do not wish for a purpose. I am so tired I can’t barely pick up the knife anymore. I have no energy for depression. The only sign of my humanity remains at night when I lay silently in my bed. exhausted, but unable to pass into sleep. numb tears gently trickling down my cheek.