Welcome to My Life

Just for a moment, imagine yourself in my place. Try to feel as I feel, see as I see. I do not wish for you to feel pity for me. I wish only for you to realize how lucky you are to live the life you have. Never take happiness for granted.

Imagine you wake up, without really waking up, you almost reach conciousness before you fall right back down into that sweet darkness of sleep. You never want to leave. It's so peaceful there, as Hemingway once said "I like sleep, my life tends to fall apart when I'm awake." Eventually you will have to get up, to face another day.

It's hard to get into a rythm that will carry you through most of the day, but you do it. You keep yourself busy, never allowing the darkness inside to take over. But something will happen, an argument, bad news, or just a stray thought will send you spiraling down into the depression. It's terrifying to see yourself like that.

When the depression sets in, you feel only numb. It is not the comfortable numb described in the Pink Floyd song, no, this is a complete lack of feeling, you are void of all emotion, all sensation. It feels as if you are a living statue, trapped inside yourself, looking through your eyes as if looking through the holes in a mask. You can touch, taste, smell, see, but never feel.

I know I will never be able to make you understand why I hurt myself. Unless you've been to the brink, where harming yourself if the only way you can cope, for whatever reason, you will never truly understand the emptiness and the calm of a creature who can put a razor blade to her wrists, and open the vein.

I can tell you why I do, it's to break that horrible monotonous numb. I so desperately need to feel something again, so I turn to the razor, or the match. It's almost as if they hold my life. When the pain sets in, it breaks that numb, and replaces it with a sort of peace. I can remember, while the blood runs or the blister burns, that I'm alive. I know, it's horrible, to feel so completely dead inside that you have to remind yourself that you're even ALIVE. I feel pathetic. Every time I see my scars, they remind me of how stupid, weak and pathetic I am. I have no respect for myself. No respect  for an empty shell of  body, which the soul has long ceased to inhabit.



I can describe for you, the way it feels to be me, but you aren't me. You are you, I can never make you truly feel how it is to be me. You can never truly see. I accepted that and other truths long ago. Tell yourself a lie often enough and it becomes truth, even if just to you.