Maybe it's the drugs talking

I feel like I'm fighting all the time. Drowning. There's always something. Something in the way. I'm trying to breathe underwater. I wanna say I love it when it hurts, but I'd be lying. I'm tired. The face in the mirror tells me the same thing every day. Just breathe.
How do you win when you're fighting a war inside, against yourself?


It's been a rough couple of days. I don't know why. I just wanna write. But I have no time. Too much schoolwork, catching up to do. I feel like I'm always running to catch up. Why can't I be on time for once? Had anxiety for no reason tonight. Took an Ativan. Now I just wanna blast my ipod and work on my novel. But I have to read Orlando, a novel about a transgendered boy in the Elizabethan era. Don't you wish you were me? 


I wish I could remind myself what makes me happy. What makes me want to win. What makes me want.