I wasn't there with her. But I saw it all. It was almost like I could feel her pain. I had to train myself not to. The pain was unbearable. Sometimes I'd slip and feel it. It was muse to teach myself to numb my senses to it. I've been getting better at it. Her tears stained my pillows and my clothing. What did she expect of me? What does she think I'm made of? I'm only human. She has to realize that. I hate her for this sometimes. I want to... kill her. Hit her. Destroy her. I hate her. I always hate her. But I have to take care of her. Who else does she have? I sometimes can see her beauty. Can see who she really is. So vulnerable. So naive. In some ways...innocent. She just... makes so many mistakes. So many of the same things, over and over. It's so sad. So pathetic. Pity is why I stick around, I think. Either way... it's the same thing every day. From the moment she opens her eyes to the moment she closes them again. Sometimes even in between. She gets angry when I ask the same questions over and over again. Though she never gives me a straight answer. It's just too hard? That?s all I can ever get her to tell me. I do feel sympathy sometimes. She is trying so hard to make it by. And I could understand, I guess... Sometimes I do. She's lost. She's confused. She doesn't know where she belongs. Where she fits in. It's such a said nursery rhyme. Such a said story book to open and view. The pictures are dark and tainted and what fairies and rainbows were there are hidden in the shadows of the forests she's planted. Other times, though... I get angry. I feel like making her see everything. See exactly the truth, see the reality of what has happened. Some of it was her fault. I don't care how hard that is for her to admit. She had chances. So many of them. But she fled from them and she's dragged me along with her. Now she regrets it and whines about it to me. I'm still there, though. Still drying her eyes. And telling her to be strong. Every day is a new success. Because I always tell her, Just make it to tomorrow and we'll work from there And I am proud of her. Most people in her place would be dead in a second. Or worse. But she's still living and she's still getting by. I guess I admire that. I guess I have to. I still wish she hadn't dragged me into it. I'll always hate her. I want to forgive her. Maybe someday she'll give me reason to. I love her, too, though. She's gotten me this far. Kept use both alive. I keep us alive. But so does she. It's confusing. Having a conflict with yourself. Hating yourself. She resents me sometimes, but she could never hate me. She'd be alone if she did, so she wouldn?t dare. She hurt me. Shattered me. Allowed me to break. But she's lost. It?s too dark to see and she can't see what she breaks. Maybe I'll forgive you. What do you think? Have you ever been able to forgive yourself, after hurting yourself so badly? If so... I envy you.