Fabrication through the centuries.

We've all grown up hearing crap like how if it's worth it, it will never be easy. I want to tell you that that's bullshit. Bullshit fabricated by idealists who spent their lives in pursuit of the very things responsible for their ruin. We all want it to be worth something in the end don't we? That here, at the end of all things it meant something. We're looking for meaning in those very things that took meaning from us, that took peace from us, that took purpose and moulded themselves to look like purpose. To be construed as purpose...by us. Take it from me, if it's worth it, it will be natural, pure, it won't hurt because it won't know pain. It'll help put you together rather than be the very frequency, inside which you can only be blown to bits, only be destroyed and nothing else. I've been taught weird things. Loyalty, how to stick by the side of people you care about even if they've hurt you and mutilated you. I fought it all my life, and here I am at the end, nothing but a filthy product of the same damn submissive thinking that I despise above all else. If it was worth it, it would have put my life right, it wouldn't have thrown me further off base. I wouldn't have been this...this girl whose feelings I'm ashamed of. She's beneath me and I can't live with it. It is all my own doing and I'm deprived of what it would take to fix it. And still, the guilt never goes away. I feel it keenly, much more than anyone possibly can. There are ways to go, but I'm stuck here, in a deep sleep and I can't wake up. I can never wake up. And if I don't, it's the end.