I go through life ignoring myself, until I witness someone in need of help, much like myself. I can't imagine anyone else surviving what I've been through, but they have – and they do. I'm broken ... imperfect ... asymmetric inside and out. You can't tell by looking at me, yet sometimes I wish you could.
I don't have it that easy. I fight to live, and I often have to remind myself to fight, but I do, because my dream is to make a difference.
But in all honesty, what can a diseased girl be worth in society besides a lot of money to the pharmacies?
I'm worthless, but I'm still alive. And as long as I am, I'm going to make it known.