I’ve always been a pessimist, but I’ve always been right.

To expect the worst is what I learned from every heart-wrenching event piling up, filling me up to the brim with black matter, and darkening my eyes and soul, core and character, psyche and spirit.

And even though I knew it’d happen, only a matter of time, it hits me like a slap in the face.

It makes me sick.

And I think, I should’ve known, I can’t let this happen again, and I shut myself off, I want to go to sleep and never wake up, I need to spend time just laying there, thinking, staring into space, recharging, reloading, repairing my shield to defend me from the relentless beatings, and each time it fails, I take longer to recuperate so I can build it stronger, tougher, harder…

Until I’m locked away in a shell meant to help me, and I can’t get out.

But isn’t that what I wanted in the first place?