a sixteen year old dream, and counting.
I still dream of being with the poorest of the poor and making their lives that bit better. Is this dream ever going to materialise? It has been with me for almost half my life now. Everything I do gears towards fulfilling that calling. When I dig myself out of this pit that is my black dog, I will be there. On the streets, in the shelter homes, in the slum clinics. One day.
I am still waiting. My life is slowly dripping away. Years have been somewhat lost, yet critical in this journey of living the dream. For now, I merely walk one step at a time, one day at a time. For I am an invalid. Yes, for now indeed.
Will do best in meantime, that is all I can. To push depression into remission. No matter how long it fucking takes. A decade maybe. Let's go, then.
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