That’s where I reside, isn’t it. A partially fake life, drowning in my past. Held hostage by my experiences. I can’t move one foot in front of he other. Stuck in quicksand. Dying from my own inability to move past the shit. Scared to hell and back from the life Ive lived. Don’t fuck up again Anna. This is what goes through my head. That’s why I pull the dolls and toys out. It’s a reminder to not fuck up again.