Maybe one day I’ll be able to feel something softer than dread. I’ll be happy to live my life. I will look for the good in people, in things. I will be happy. I won’t feel like I don’t belong. I will belong in my own home, it will be a place of peace.
Maybe one day I’ll stop cancelling plans with friends because I’m anxious and tired. I will want to be social. I will want to go out and enjoy myself. I won’t feel guilty. I will have fun.
Maybe one day I’ll be cared for and cared about. Someone will check on me, they will make sure I am okay when I know I am not. I won’t be on the back burner of anyone’s life. I am priority, not secondary. I am worthwhile. One day.
Maybe one day I’ll stop using my mental health as a crutch to spew excuses, though they are valid and true. I’ll own up to the fact that I often struggle. I will get better. I won’t be so hard on myself.
Maybe one day I’ll look out the window and feel comfort and warmth, not sadness nor emptiness. It will be reassuring. I won’t be sad anymore.
Maybe one day someone will be proud of me. I have come a long way. Most days I don’t think I have anymore fight in me. I am tired of fighting. I would like to rest. There is no rest.
Maybe one day I will sleep and feel content, I will wake up and embrace my day. I will not be scared to go to bed. I will not be paralyzed. I will be whole.
I will find a healthy outlet to express my anger. I won’t take it out on myself or other people anymore. I will be more considerate, nicer.
I want to get better. I want to be cared about. I want to be whole.
I am not.