I am broken.
There is no better way to describe me than that. I sometimes sit outside the local school and watch the little children play in the playground, laughing, running around, pulling hair, falling over and crying. I watch them not because I am some sort of weird paedophile but because I envy them.
I envy them because they are at the age of not knowing what stress is. They don’t know worry, they have no concept of depression. I sit there and I watch their innocent faces and while I envy them, I sometimes can’t help but pity them. The things I have been through not just physically but mentally; I wouldn’t wish on anyone. At the moment the only thing they have to worry about is the amount of homework they are given. I remember at that age I used to fear detention. Having to sit quietly…
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