For a long time, I've been sick...
Not physically, but mentally. I have problems with my thought processes. I know this about myself.
My unhealthy thoughts won't leave me alone.
They've been with me as long as I can remember. And no matter who comes into and leaves my life, they are always there at the end.
The strange part of it now, though...
Is I'm not sure I want them to leave. It may sound strange, or melodramatic, but it is true.
Sometimes I get very lonely.
I know I have friends who care, but they can't be there all the time. My family can't either. But the negative thoughts are always there - in my mind, in my heart, in my writing and my art.
I don't like being sick, but...
As long as I know I'm sick, I know who and what I am. What am I without these negative thoughts? Who am I without my demons and my sorrow?
Eventually everyone leaves but the monsters.
It's just me and my demons, side by side... until the end of the line. At least they keep me company. So I try to be nicer to them