Broken

Every morning is a struggle to get up, not to just lie there. Every task that needs to be done, no matter how small, is a mountain to conquer. To get up after you've done your best and found it's not enough is almost impossible. Not to judge everything I do or say isn't even debatable. To see myself as a lesser being, unworthy and meaningless, is an everyday occurance. The joy in doing things I used to love is gone and I only care for the necessity of it. If someone else can use it. I feel lonely in a room full of people. I lie to myself every morning, that things will be OK, and I go to bed every night disappointed in myself.