So you’re down and out and not sure you can take much more.

You look around and think to yourself: 

This is it? 

This is my life? 

Is this as good as it gets?

You shrug and respond:

Well, sure it is. It’s what I had comin’ to me.

My mother told me this would happen.

I should have known better. 

What was I thinking!

The imagined words of others begin to float into your mind:

You’re no fun; live a little.

Whore. Slut. 

Worthless. Damaged

It’s all in your head. You’re overreacting.

You’re exhausted. You’re not sure how you got here, but it’s been awhile.

It’s dark where you are.

It’s hard to breathe.

There’s no rest here.

You’re just going through the motions. 

You wonder if anybody knows. 

You feel alone here, isolated, even with your friends.

You live in fear here even in the presence of loved ones. 

You’re a mess, barely keeping it together.

You’re screaming, but words aren’t coming out. 

 It happened so slowly. Gradually. Over time. But here you are. In the pit. 

And I get it. I’ve been there. 

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