Wake up. Get up. Breath. Work. School. Eat. Sleep.

This side of the world same as the other yet so far away and different. Maybe better. Maybe worse.  

Different people. Different passions. Same longing. To fit in.

I feel a hole in my body. In my gut. I can hear it. Stinging.
Ripping slowly throughout my chest.
What purpose do I have here? In this world. Almost meaningful. Maybe not.
I don't know how to help myself. How to fix myself.  
Will I ever know?

Never thought moms could be broken like the rest of us.

Broken like her own daughter.

Sad at night in bed longing for another person to hold her. Just like she holds her kids when they scream out into the night.

Being here wishing you could help her be okay but not being okay yourself.  

Hurt is the only word you can find to describe it.  

Hurt.  

It is the only word to be okay with showing how you feel.  

You and your mother. The same.  

Indifferent.

To help myself is to make me better but what can I do better when all I do is try?

Maybe they didn't know. Maybe they did
Maybe they didn't know. They knew, didn't they?

Maybe I was awkward. Definitely.
Maybe it's what I said. Probably.

Please tell me I'm doing alright because right now all I feel is wrong.