I feel detached from reality lately. My heart hurts most of the time and my body is breaking down because of it. I’m slowly realizing my problems are bigger than I had ever imagined. I cry now, more than I think I ever did. I wear my heart on my sleeve and for that I suffer greatly. I am in love with people that can never and will never love me in the way I so desperately yearn for them to. To say I feel inadequate is to put it gently. I want more than anything to say “I love you more than you will ever know. You barely recognize my meek existence, yet I take in every subtle movement you make as if each step landed on my heart. Your smile makes me feel as if all the wrong is the world will be suddenly set right.” Yet I know I’d never muster the courage so instead I’ll cower behind my words.
My heart aches in a way I’ve never experienced before and I fear being alone more than anything. My thoughts have become so scattered, varied, agonizing, and terrifying that five minutes of silence seems like ten years in hell. I’m afraid of retreating to my old ways and engaging in self injurious behaviors again. It seemed, at one point, the only stable thing in my life, and the driving force behind any sense of control. I don’t know how to be happy; I don’t know how to live anymore. I’ve never been able to look in a mirror and smile at the simple fact that I was alive; rather I’d curse the sun for rising on me again.
I know it’s sick but sometimes I wish I’d be struck with a fatal illness so I could just pass away and eventually fade out in people’s memories. I’m too much of a chicken to kill myself and I know my family would never recover from such a desperate act. I just need it to end sometimes. I feel like Sylvia Plath.
I have seen the others,
And I have discovered,
That this fight is not worth fighting…
-Dispatch
XOXO - Maxine
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