if I let myself really sit and think about my life and myself I can't help but tear up knowing I'm such an incredible disappointment to my younger self. she would be ashamed to have grown into her - me. without a fire for life, wasted potential rotting away disappearing into nobody. my inner child so pure and innocent tainted by life, it's trials and tribulations all with nothing to show for myself except a morbidly obese ogre a husk of her former self. because no matter which way you slice it I'm a failure, failing at life. getting cut up in every which way unable to get a foot hold and climb out of the very disease that eats me alive. and to think to put myself out of this misery,  believe me, how I've tried, but only gone and failed at that too.