That. That moment. That day when all of these things happen. That, is when everything goes completely, utterly, irreparably and fucking terribly wrong.
Five. Count them with me: one, two, three, four, five. Five months. Five months of working my ass off. Five months of tears. Five months full of sadness. Five months full of self hatred that somehow multiplied itself to grow and mutate to three-thousand times what it was before. Five months of hoping. Five months of saying, "Just 4 more months," to, "Just 3 more months," to, "Just 2 more months," to, "Just 1 more month." Five months of utter hell. Five months that have now transformed into an ugly fucking ten months. Ten. Count them with me: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten. Ten.
What am I suppose to do now? Someone, please tell me. What, am I suppose to do? In five more months everything can change. I don't want anything to change. What is someone suppose to do when they have everything planned out and the plan doesn't fall through? What are you suppose to do when your whole foundation crumbles and you are left on the cold, hard, wet floor with tears in your eyes, unable to fucking stand because the pain in your heart is so massive. What are you suppose to do when you don't know what the fuck to do?
How do you live, function, breath?
How do you not lose your faith in all of mankind?
How do you get back up and wipe those fucking tears off of your face so that you can curse the person who fucked you up, screwed you over and broke their worthless, meaningless, shit promise?
Five more months of starving.
Maybe I'll just die before then.