Back then. There was a reason. An unspoken, no an understood reason. I had things to blame, things that happened, something to look to from my dysfunction. They made me like this. I’m young. I used to tell the story and it began like this..
I couldn’t tell you the way it ended. There was still hope. I was still grasping, learning, yearning for a sign for a chance I was fighting. I was a fighter. I was a fighter.
I was a fighter. I fought. With everyone, and I fought everything indiscriminately. There was feeling and chasing a feeling, there was reason for my cause there were reasons for my behavior. My drug. My past. I was intense, so intense, so loving, so hateful. I had so much vengeance, so much fire. I was awake. But now I see. I was asleep.
Back then, there was a cause. There could be justice through my actions, my words, my relationships.
I couldn’t tell you how it ended.
I am what is wrong with me.