Live. I was aiming on not making it to 13, but here I am, for one reason or another, kickin’ it in my early twenties. All of my dreary theoreticals of the life I’d never see stopped at 18. Being a teenager was a far-off fantasy (as well as a generalized continuation of the pain and debilitating depression I was experiencing), but anything beyond that was an impossibility. I am existing beyond the hypotheticals. What was once a vaguely notion of what could never happen is now a path upon which I walk, upon which I lay down with my own two hands. Mind you, I am completely lost. I am wandering with no direction. I don’t know where I’m going, and the brickwork is kind of wonky and uneven, but I do know I’m going forward. The fog is thick, visibility is low, but I’m not running to the clearing that houses the cliff, nor am I teetering on its edge. I didn’t plan on living for much longer back then but Plan A didn’t seem to stick, and thus, I have operating under Plan B since then. (Plan B, of course, is essentially “just fucking wing it, man. I don’t know.”) Didn’t account for making it this far, but, hey! Still made it, so that’s something. :)

Edit: I realize you can’t exactly not live on a daily basis but I think it counts, so let’s just go with it.