Drift

Drift.
I don't know if I will ever 'just be'.  
Everyday feels like a struggle—an exhaustive, up hill, draining, unproductive time.  
Can I commit to anything?  
I'm pausing already—typing is even like running a marathon for me.  
Why do I feel this way? 
I feel so fake.  
Who am I?  
I have no idea.  
I'm terrible at moving forward.  
Achieving coping skills that work continuously—when will I be successful?  
Is this self-pity?  
Is this depression?  
Is this my failed physical health?  
Is it my daily self-loathing?  
Never worthy.  
My insides feel decayed.  
Where am I?  
Lost in all my pain.  
Troubled.  
How do I fix my life!?  
Alone.  
An actress is what I am.  
I hate myself.  
Things weren't supposed to be this way—turn out this way.  
Let me drift...

Tyla

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