Everything.

It's rough because I am so acutely aware of the possibilities that have been afforded to me that other people will never see - and do I take them with a thanks, like I deserve it? What does that even mean? I don't believe in karma, or fate, or divine anything - so what to do with this that has been given to me? I don't have to work. I don't have to do anything. I had a life once in which every last second was more terrifying than the next, one in which I could never even conceive of the way I live now. Capreciously. Wastefully. My addiction came years and years after I got off the street, a time in which I never did drugs or drank at all. To this day I am so very haunted by the roof over my head and the food in my stomach - not comforted by it. I love the people I love so fiercely, but maybe not always because of who they are, but instead just because they are. Everybody's wrong about me. It's lonely. I have these things and I can't ever be rid of them. I should be grateful. I'm angry that I'm not grateful. I don't know what kind of a person wouldn't be grateful to sit at this computer and do what they were born to do - and what they've done everything short of take a literal shotgun to their brain to prevent. What is wrong with me. Why do I destroy when I know I should create.