Survivor's Guilt

They told me it would be difficult.
Actually no, that's a lie:
they said it would be easy,
next time,
whenever I decided I was sick to death of this life.

"Now that you've crossed that line
and come out alive on the other side
the next time around,
the decision won't be so hard."

Who needs a next time?
I feel bad enough being here
that I might as well already be in Hell
(If I believed in the place.)

Yes, admittedly, I've got pretty much everything
I ever set out to achieve for myself:
I'm a wife, a mom, an author,
but at what cost?

No matter what I do,
people think I'm crazy.
And I can't even blame it on my parents anymore.

It's all me,
trying to make sense of this world,
trying to find sheer bliss
in a world that insists
on constantly bringing me down.

So often,
I wish I hadn't woken up;
especially seeing as though
the reason behind my actions
was because I didn't want to see anyone in pain,
knowing it was at my hands.

Now,
I'm surrounded by hearts that I've hurt,
worlds I've turned upside down,
bills that wrap their fingers around my throat
strangling the hope out of me;

hope that I'll ever learn
how to be happy with what I have,
and how to live with myself
when I decide to tell someone 'no.'