I couldn't stand up to her, a sceard person who done something. Shut her up, Goddamn stairs. It vas to late. What would you say to her? I don't know. That I was sorry. That I never know what it was like to be her. But I know what it's like to wanna die. How it hurts to smile. You're trying to fit it, but you can't. Who hurt yourself on the outside, trycking to kill the thing on the inside. How the hell am I suppost to recover when I don't even understand my disease? But you understand it, you spoke very clearly about in in a second ago. But I think what you got to do is, put it down, put it away, put it in your notebook, but get it out of yourself. Away so you can stop crowl with it anymore.