I accepted a long time ago that I was a lost cause, if anyone knew I even existed in the first place. Help others because I'm beyond my own chance of recovery. But my heart still beats and my lungs still fill with air and release it out again. I'm essentially alive. A machine that's been properly refurbished to do it's job. Fulfill it's purpose. What happens when that purpose is taken away and replaced with dysfunctional madness?

Then, I have people trying to save me. Me? What the **** is this? That's not suppose to happen. If I can't help then I must leave because I'm no longer any good. What happens when they don't listen and they keep trying to help? Don't swim out to me, I'm too far and you'll drown before you reach me. If you reach me I'll pull you down at my side and then reach the surface again once you've touched bottom and are lost to the deep. But they come with a boat and beg me to get on board. Surely, I'll **** up the boat and we'll all drown together. I cannot allow myself onto the boat. They drag me on board, anyway, while I kick and scream, "I'm a lost cause, now let me be. Let me hit the bottom and feel the peace I seek." They don't listen.

A long time ago, I accepted that I was a lost cause. Now I'm trying to accept something that scares the hell out of me. Hope. Hope that I can be saved and that I can return to shore. Due to my history with hope and how often he's fled, this terrifies me. What if he leaves again?