I’ve accepted that my greatest sins are ones that won’t be forgiven by something omnipotent. I’ve accepted that they are a part of me, a part of my story. And as much as I’ve changed my way of living, I can’t shake the thinking or the feeling. I still find myself cutting off pieces of my soul to ransom a life worth losing. Some means to an end. And I can’t find a means to believe that it’ll change. The good thing about me is that I’m able to walk the walk, talk the talk. But I can’t think the thoughts of someone healthy or whatever that looks like to me. Maybe those don’t go away. Shadows that paint nightmares across my eyes. Devils dancing under the streetlights. So the darkness is where I choose to stay. Keep driving like I have a destination. Somewhere to get to. I’m already there. So I choose to not wear it as a mask but as my actual face. The face of everything that I am and ever will be. I don’t know if this is the way things are supposed to be. I’m just grasping at straws. I can’t think my way out of a prison of my thoughts. I’m barred, locked up because I haven’t a clue as to who I’m supposed to be. But I put myself here and I’ll wear that too. There is something my disease has taught me that I can’t unlearn: I am no one, and I am nothing. Just an empty face on my wrongdoings and what continues to haunt me.