I’ve tried what feels like a thousand times to unpack all the boxes under my bed, little memories that hide away in the back of my brain. I’m not sure what I will do with them yet, but them maybe? Chuck them out to sea? Keep them? I’m not sure. I open the boxes, look inside for a while, pick something out, a letter, a gift, a receipt from something, so tiny. All my memories flood back, I feel my eyes swell and my throat choke. The same strange emotions rush back. I pack them away again thinking ‘another day’ when it
Isn’t too much, when it doesn’t make my head hurt. But when will it stop hurting so much? When will I be able to look at the memories and smile, just be happy I had you in my life. All I feel is guilt, pain, frustration. I guess the saying ’ it’s doesn’t stop hurting, you just learn to deal with it’ is true. Another day, Alice, another day.

I feel like this is it. I’ve had enough, enough of the tormenting, enough of the silly bitching, enough of the pain. All I can think of is how much I don’t like myself right now. Or anything, or how much people don’t like me. Why am I still here? Please someone remind me what my purpose is. Because I don’t know anymore.