I don't feel real, I don't feel like a person, not unless others are around me pulling me into existence. Until they leave again or until it's time for me to leave. Sometimes I wonder if I succeeded in committing suicide and this is my personal hell. I feel like a ghost just drifting through the World with no meaning to whatever this existence is.
I don't feel real.
Am I defined by my illness? Is it who I am?
It has lost me a husband and gained me a caretaker instead. He is just existing too, between work, sleep, and taking care of me because I can be a danger to myself. I have to hide the proof of my past transgressions. Long sleeves in the summer are a misery but I think I deserve it. The painful scars aren't enough punishment for putting my loved ones through the worry I've put them through. Seeing the scars every time I glance at my arm, they won't fade, being reminded of that day, knowing that I was serious about ending the pain is not enough.
I would give anything for 5 minutes of total sanity and happiness. No I wouldn't. The pain would seem more pronounced, the depression stronger, all because of those 5 minutes of peace. You never realize just how much pain you're in until you get a break from it. When it comes back, when it comes back...
My sister sent me a link to this song and some of it fits too well, too close to my reality. I just can't wrap my head around the idea that I'm an innocent.
I'm in a bad place again. I want to numb the pain, trying to stop it is too dangerous and makes me less trustworthy in the eyes of my friends and family. They wonder how far I'll go. What if? It scares them. I wish they knew how much it scares me.
I'm ghosting through life looking for meaning. Like the Velveteen Rabbit I want to be real. I want my life to have meaning. I want it to be worth something.
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