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I am desperate, lonely, and crushed from the forces of this universe. This world has not had a place for me. Where do I belong? I don’t want to die, and I don’t know how to keep on living with intense pain embracing my very being. Can I survive? I cannot stop the addiction to the narcotics. I am hooked. They own me and control me. My only thought and every move is when I can take the next pill. If only I could release the pain and torture that has haunted me for so many years. Then maybe I could have a few seconds of peaceful breaths before I am consumed to return to the earth. I hurt for those addicted. People wonder why they can’t just stop taking drugs. It is too hard. Their brains have been reprogrammed to function on a different plateau than before they became addicted. As I look back on my life, I wonder why? Why did my mother keep driving down that old dirt road with her child screaming, crying, and begging for her with the dust and exhaust blowing in her face and lungs, until she drops to the ground from total exhaustion? And why did I live my childhood feeling that I was worthless and not good enough to the point that I spend fifty-eight years fulfilling that prophecy? And why can’t I get my life straightened out once and for all and feel normal? And I know that it was not to be. I look at who I am. I look at what I’ve accomplished. And I know that very little happiness, if any, has been found from the material things in life. Can I accept myself now? I think about it and know that I can. I am. I have always been. So what if life hasn’t been the ideal picture that society paints that it should be. I have made a statement. And I still wonder if I can fit into what society expects from a person. I think not. What does it matter? Fact is fact and truth is truth. Sure I may be considered a nobody in this world. Maybe less than a nobody. And I know that whatever marks I have made on this earth mean something. I am me. I am okay. But most of all, I am.
