Words

It was a tough fight. Everyday she struggled to wakeup. Everyday she had to fight the urges to not go out. She knew it was bad. She knew it wasn't going any better. She knew it was bad after she relapse. The feel to cancel all the plans, schedule she had, just be in bed. Bed was her freedom. Bed was her safety bed. Bed was the one who witness her downfall. Bed was her escape. Going out was very tough. Things isn't what she expected. Things wasn't what she sees. Voices getting louder, seeing things getting worse. She hate everything. She hate that she's not a human, she's a problem.