I feel clouded and isolated at night. The thought of starting therapy is frightening. It’s the only way I’ll get better, but part of me doesn’t want to get better. Part of me wants to stay this way forever because I know what it’s like. I don’t know how to be normal again. It’s easier to pretend everything is fine.
My head hurts and it makes me want to take all my pills. I sicken myself.
Do you ever feel trapped in your skin? It makes you want to rip it off? Peel the skin and flesh off your bones. Become just nothing.
Nothing is what I deserve to be.
There’s something special about fog so thick you can’t see what’s beyond it. There’s a feeling of isolation.
I’m currently sitting on a big bus that’s completely empty. All I can see are these large, empty fields. No trees, no houses. The fog has swallowed it all. I wonder if I’m truly even in the real world anymore.
How do you deal with somwone you don’t remember? Having a feeling of a specific memory, but not the memory itself. How do you trust that feeling?
Am I imagining things? Or can I trust that feeling? I cannot know.
I feel as if there’s something locked behind a door. A large, dark, intimidating door. I need to open it, but I don’t know how. Where is the key?
Life has improved. It may be temporary, but I’ll take it. This week has been good. I’ve been happy. I even achieved a major life goal! I hope it stays this way.
My dolls are placed on top of my bookshelf, watching over my room. They are so still, yet they feel full of life. As a child, I was afraid of dolls, but now they feel comforting. Quiet little friends. I like to think they protect me from whatever monsters might crawl out of the shadows as I sleep.
As I look at them, they seem to be moving ever so slightly. Perhaps I should go to sleep.