You tell me there are those who are worse off than I.

Do you know what it’s like to shoulder that guilt?

The guilt of knowing that my life could be much worse

Like that of the mother who looked a little bit too young?

Or that of the woman whose husband I couldn’t save?

You tell me there are those who are worse off than I.

And that’s why I do what I do.

I have met them, treated them, touched them.

I hurt for those who are broken, and I weep for those left behind.

I carry their faces with me wherever I go.

You tell me there are those who are worse off than I.

And for that, I am thankful. But it doesn’t change things.

It doesn’t change the fact that I walk around everyday

Plagued by the memories of what has been, seized by the flashbacks,

Overwhelmed with the sheer emotion of it all

I know there are those who are worse off than I

But you don’t understand. I never claimed there weren’t

We all have our own personal “hell”

I don’t understand yours

And I pray to God you don’t ever understand mine.