I can’t write about beautiful flowers all of the time, and my sky can not always be painted by the sunset. I wish that it was different. I wish that I could always have sunshine and rainbows, but the colors faded long ago. I have empathy, but not for myself. I am too capable of not caring about myself, so capable that it scares me. For a long time, I thought I was ignoring everything I feel, brushing it off but I’m only finding ways to numb myself.