I'm kind of crazy and... broken.

I don't always know what's real and what isn't.

I have to carry things with me all the time to feel safe. Stupid things. things I know can't do anything, but without them I get so panicked I can't function.

I wonder all the time about the things I know

Being here... so much of what I believe has been challenged and it's so hard. Even when it's good it hurts.

Am I responsible for my mother's death? I ran instead trying to help her. Am I a whore for the things I've done? I let people have sex with me to get things I needed for me or the little ones. Could I have saved more of the children? I watched so many of them die...

If so much of what I knew is lies, so much of what I based me on, then who am I?

Am I real? Am I even here or have I finally lost all hold on reality and created this crazy imaginary City in my head, while my body is locked up in some crazy ward?