I have cried from the simplest causes and at times have not shed a tear when I should have had none left. I know right from wrong like the back of my hand, but still I have given into devilish ways that even I could never forgive myself for. Even worse I’ve enjoyed it… Looking back, I don’t remember a time when even in my childhood that I’ve felt truly at peace. Was I even supposed to? Was I supposed to live a healthy, pure life? Or is that even living? Is life about living experiences you’ll never forget? Or is it about living with the lowest amount of imperfections possible? Does anyone even know? I have run from authority and from myself. Truthfully, I don’t even know which is worse. To me, inner conflicts are self destruction and satisfying both at the same time. I’ve lived in a lot of pour situations. Are the things I feel from them even worth it? Maybe it really is ridiculous to endure sadness because maybe it’s silly that I do. I won’t lie, my family even know they are not the only reason, have caused me great pain. Even though I don’t understand so much that some of them have committed, I love them to death (even the ones who are no longer legally my family). But it’s a complicated love. One that has more than one side; a darker side filled with hate and disapproval and then a lighter one filled with hope and memory. Will one side ever disappear? Or will both continue on a never ending balance scale? Do I want to find out? Am I even strong enough? Maybe I’m just weak all together.