Every time I think about it, it hits me again, whether I show it or not. People ask me if I'm going to try again. Thing is, I've never stopped. I didn't quit because I wanted to. I quit because I had to. I had to stop hurting my mom. I had to stop hurting myself. This has killed us both. Every time I work up the courage to try again, it gets worse. I can't do it alone anymore. People ask me why I don't stop. I don't stop because if I don't keep trying, I won't ever know if it's over. I want it all to just be over, but that's not what God wants I suppose. Good things have come out of all this, but they were all earned. You tell me that it could be so much worse, as if I don't know that. I know things could be much worse, because I've witnessed worse. I make myself sick worrying about my people dealing with worse things. It's been one year, eight months, and fifteen days. I have played one half. One freaking half, which I hardly remember. There are bigger and better things to put my focus on, and I do, but it just keeps hitting me. It will stop one day.
"In his heart a man plans his course, but the Lord determines his steps." -Proverbs 16:9
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