This whole thing, to say the least, has gotten out of hand.

For the greatest portion of my life, I have felt like a nobody. A real loser. There often seemed to be a level where I knew I could be, and I was constantly looking at it from afar like it was a forbidden love. I lived with a constant broken heart.

And no solution I had to offer was acceptable. Shutting out my family and friends. Food replacing love. Attempted suicides. Convincing myself I wasn’t a good person. I had cast myself into solitude because I thought people like me didn’t deserve what “normal people” called happiness.

I grew tired of that feeling though, and I stopped talking about doing it. Stopped with the excuses. Stopped feeling sorry for myself. Learned to accept I was good enough to tell my own damn story. And all it took was…