How do you go on with life when you've been dealt a shit hand of cards?

I suppose a lot don't deal at all, they choose the dark. A stinging tug of a rope, the single pull of a trigger, a lethal dance of drugs.

There's temptation there. Sometimes I don't understand how I'm still standing. How I've resisted it.

Mental illnesses have the ability to cripple their host, to draw out their will and their fight until there is nothing left but skin and intestines and bones. That's how I find myself feeling like a lot these days.

I want to scream.

The struggle within is real, but when others throw daggers at my back I lose that one motivation that kept me up. I haven't learned how to wrestle both of those demons simultaneously yet.

I hear what they say when they think I can't hear them

Those gross assumptions

My whole existence written off with a single whisper

It eats away at me, slowly, painfully, I see the way they look at me

They don't notice me staring right back.