I write

Words. Frustrations, fear, isolation, anger, pain, sorrow, and shame. Familiar words, friends, known all too, well. Words. Strangers, passing acquaintances from someone else’s life. Words. A constant struggle, the overwhelming need to be heard, the petrifying fear that no on is there to hear, or care. I write because I can’t say the words. I write because I have to. I write because I know if I don’t, I die. I write.