Too old for fairy tales

Holy fucking shit. I am so sick of this. Every night I lie in bed and wonder when the anxiety will allow me to sleep. I'm sick of the wars inside of my mind. I can't win, I always lose. Blood fills the street-- it fills my veins. And regret is the language of my past. 
I spend hours a day staring at my phone, refreshing every page. What is it that I am waiting for? I keep expecting that magical text to come in and change my life. But there's no reception in this fucking room. 

My mom wishes I would curse less and smile more. Me, too. But fuck it, this is life and I'm too old for fairy tales.
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They say happiness begins within..... shit.