Sick of This Life

I have discovered writing is an outlet to release some of my inner demons. I think I am reaching the point of being finished with the human race. I dream of a place in the woods away from the rest of the human race to heal and to grow. I long to no longer be a source for someone to use me. It appears that I only have value when I have something to offer folks, but when I am down on my luck I am standing alone. I think it is time to go back to my place of solitude where the lies of others can't affect me. A place where having no family doesn't get to me. One day I am packing up this life and moving onto a new life away from this bullshit.