When I was a kid, I knew I wanted to be a success. We all had dreams of being a police officer, a fire fighter or a doctor I'm sure. I know I did. All I ever worried about was what flavor chips I was going to eat for lunch. Then I turned 9 and it's like my life ended. This one event that I'm not even sure really happened started it all. If it was just a dream, it was the realist one I've ever had. Since then my life has gone backwards. Dropping out of school at 14, binge drinking myself almost into a coma several times, attempting suicide, being in and out of psych wards and police stations, on and off all sorts of medications. It's just been too much. My family practically gave up on me until this year, things were finally looking up. Now that I've entered back into the 'real world' it seems less real than ever. I just can't see how any of it matters. All the stuff we have created for ourselves is just one huge distraction. The only thing that was ever true was my suffering, and to know that just makes me want to give up, curl up in a ball and forget that I ever existed. Is this normal for someone recovering from mental illness? Do we just suddenly have this epiphany that makes us realize we are really so unimportant...or am I just being a cynic? I can't answer that and I don't expect anyone else to know the answer. I just hope someone else understands what it means to feel like nothing more than a grain of sand on a 3 mile long beach, which is what we are in the universe.