I can’t tell you why life is worth living, or even whether or not it is. Perhaps life itself is beyond that kind of questions. Painful and all, it’s still happening as I type.
Sometimes I feel nothing but inertia moves the blood in my veins, and smiling sems to take such an enormous effort, even though they say frowning needs more muscles. But still, it seems to balance itself out somehow. Today my grandmother found me crying and gave me lemon balm tea. Then she and my mother lay beside me and told me stories about their youth. Everything felt so much better then! Strange how a simple solution brought enormous change. Life, eh? All and all, it keeps going.
I guess that’s all I have to say.