I'm getting by, on the wings of a silent wish.
I wish the pain would end.
I wish I could prove to be a good patient, a good client, a good daughter, a good employee, a good woman, a good person. But if I were a good person, a good human being, wouldn't people love me?
Instead I have lived my life on crumbs of love, starving and aching from the hollowness of my soul. A little girl who was so emaciated and frail she fell over and broke bones. I have not eaten in decades, since the last scrap of leftovers was thrown my way.
And I survive, because it is my punishment.
It is my sentence.