It's because her being in pain rips out my soul.
It's because her entire life was misery and unmedicated psychological pain.
It's because – just like when I was six – I can't fix any of it.
It's because I can't hold her hand when she dies.
It's because I just want, even now, – just like when I was six – for her to be happy.
It's because I know she wanted more for me – a life unlike her own – but I fucked it up anyway.
It's because I've run out of time to do something for her to be proud of.
It's because I can't change of any of it.
But I can't stop her pain or make her happy, no matter what I do...I never could.
But I can't change the past.
But I can get the help she didn't.
But I can care about my health and choices.
But I can learn to take care of myself.
But I can take the chances she was too afraid to.
But I can demand better, even though she was never able to.
But I can create the life I want.
But I can make myself proud.
But I can change.