I tried.
I did.
I tried to stick it out.
Even though it changed me.
Even though it tore me apart.
Even though I didn't recognise myself in the process.
Then, I realised.
I don't have to 'stick' anything out.
I'm not stuck to it.
I can move.
I have no connection to things I don't find joy in.
The only thing that sticks with me is the dread.
The anxiety.
The numbness.
The denial.
The regret.
That's the only thing I remember.
All because I tried to 'stick it out'.
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What A Time To Be Alive
PoetryCollection of words. Each feeling, each emotion and each problem shared through a questionable stream of consciousness.