Sometimes, I admire my obscure and complex brain.
Other times, I hate how it brings me this unbearable pain.
Sometimes, I cry because I want to feel again.
Other times, it\'s because I don\'t want the sadness to end.
Sometimes, I reach out to people when I\'m low.
Other times, my emptiness is where I wallow.
Sometimes, I hurt myself to distract my mind.
Other times, it\'s the only comfort I find.
Sometimes, I sincerely want to die.
Other times, I know I\'m not ready to say goodbye.
Sometimes, I feel like I\'ve figured out who I am.
Most other times, I don\'t know who I am.