Time to debrief. put things away into the "to be forgotten" memories. Long hours. Pounding water. Pounding fears. Naked to everything. Is that me? Am I the one who stands there, forgetting everything and making up new memories to be strong. To hold on by myself. I don't ask for help. I don't want help. I just want to be able to make it through to the finish line. Problem is, no one knows where that line is. You know all those books about people? All the ones that have depressed teens that face their fears? What if they only make it for the story, because they're not real. What if for every one who makes it, there are ten who don't. What if there are ten people who don't have stories written about them. Because they didn't make it. Because they got lost. They didn't cross the finish line. How do I know weather I'm part of that unmentionable ten. What do the survivors do, choose to take some almost unseen alley instead of the easiest road infront of them? I'm going to take the alley. Alone in the dark, but only 'tll the end. I'll keep taking my timeless showers of pouring memories. Keep holding my head up high. And I'll make it too. By myself.



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Is there a reason we all exist, exist withh the feelings we have? Is that a piece of survival? Did we evolve to become so screwed? Do these feelings... do they exist bcause me made them up?