I think I  always have dealt with not knowing who I am, or where I came from. I think it had to do with the fact that I was adopted, and didn't feel like I fit anywhere, like I matched anyone around me.

And I think when the drugs came into play six years ago they gave me a sense of False belonging, and after awhile that illusion turned into more isolation and more confusion. It also turned me into someone else: someone desperate, someone who was capable of doing bad things, someone who wasted time, someone that was her worst nightmare.

And the high expectations and the the failures and the dreams I let go of were all wrapped into it, and it made it so much more painful.

And after awhile I didn't recognize myself in the mirror anymore, I didn't want to be apart of myself, I didn't see the point in keeping on going when I knew there would always be more pain on the horizon.

And then it stopped, and then things changed, I was sober, I was free, but I still had all this left over garbage festering inside me. I still had the loss and the time I had wasted. I still didn't know who I was.

And I'm still here right now, not knowing who I am, and there is pain in that but also beauty- because I am a piece of clay to be molded- a blank sheet of paper. 

I don’t know if you’ve ever felt like that. That you wanted to sleep for a thousand years. Or just not exist. Or just not be aware that you do exist. Or something like that. I think wanting that is very morbid. And I used to want that, but I don't want that anymore.