Weathered

You don't need a good man to get through a storm, it's fixing all the damages afterwards that you'll need him for. I lived. I didn't die this summer when I wanted to so bad. I'm still here. Did you get that? I'm still here. That storm wasn't the hardest part, that fall wasn't so bad. It's the climbing back up and recovering that's making me wish it had all ended then.

But now I have a future to look to, not just the end of high school or something dumb like that. It's gonna be real damn hard, but I'm banking on it being worth it.

I keep hurting myself like this because being hurt and upset is the only way I know how to function lately. They only love me the way I want to be loved when I'm in bad shape. So I keep inflicting the pain. It's silly, I know. And don't feel like just because you're reading this you have to step up and fix me or tell me that you love me. That's not your job, and fixing me is useless because I'll find some way to break again, with that's inevitable. I'm my own self-made storm system. The patterns are oh so easy to read.

For me, it takes more muscles to smile than to frown. So don't you worry, it's just me and my melancholy face, creating my own little storm.