I have been on an act my entire life. The only way to break free, to truly be myself, is to exist as a corpse. Since my first depersonalization derealization, I stopped being able to live as a whole . Since the first time I wrote down that I wanted to die. I never wanted to speak about my mind or draw it out or turn it into something perceptible, but they just grind me up inside.
There’s truly no one to speak to. All contradictions. I draw my naked body on every girls in every piece I make but I’m a prude. I say everything is beautiful but only trace out the exaggerated contours of an anorexic. I can’t possibly list everything in my life, everything about me is a lie. Everything is an act. The only way to truly be myself is to die.
Been feeling kinda paranoid, two, it’s been three hours after originally writing this, i feel alright now. I don’t know why I’m falling back into this. I can go hours and hours about what I originally wanted to talk about, but I’d rather not remind myself of any of it.