Every single day I think – but she has a better job than me, she writes more often than me, she earns more than me. And I know, probably, I shouldn’t hold myself to the same standard as he or she – but I am sick, after all. It’s harder to remind yourself that you are ‘different’ when there are people who are sick in different ways, who suffer too – and yet they seem to be doing better than you. And whilst I know it’s unfair and I am lucky to have lived past six or so and that it’s a miracle that I got out of bed or pulled myself together at all, I can’t see past what healthy people do or can do. I could recover completely and never shake or falter again but still I could not catch up to those my age who are healthy and motivated and who don’t need pills or special diets or hand-holding. And yeah I know I should be grateful, of course sometimes I am. That a victim of child abuse and a sufferer of complicated neuro-scientific nonsense as a direct result could move, graduate, travel – maybe it is a miracle, and maybe I should be grateful. But still daily I see people, I see girls my age and younger who have succeeded and who are better and they have their shit too. So why can’t I work and play and make friends and feel safe and succeed, what is it that makes this different and that fatigues me so desperately and knocks me out at the slightest hint of childhood or makes me lose my train of thought – I want to be better and perhaps I can, but positive thinking and a little motivation will not be enough to get me out of a bed made for a victim.