What is wrong with me.

I’m a terrible person.

There are people in this world plagued by terrible things- disease, hunger, poverty- and those people are and do beautiful things with their life.

And then I’m here with my slew of mental problems that, in the spectrum of this world, don’t matter in the slightest. And I have been given help. And it hasn’t worked.

Yet other people would die for that help, and maybe it would work for them.