Sometimes in my dreams I’m transported back to the place I used to live, the only place I was every really “happy”. It’s different to how it actually was back then, but I know that’s where it is, because there’s forest everywhere, and the way I feel about it. I have this deep sense of longing, like I want to cling to the whole place and not let go. I desperately want to hold on to who I was back then.
I wasn’t neurotic back then. I was innocent, naïve, even for a child. I didn’t hate myself. It’s the strangest feeling, remembering that state, then being pulled back to the present. That version of me doesn’t belong in this current reality. It can’t survive here. It can’t accept what we know about the world now, the knowledge of the things I’ve done and seen since then. So it fades back into the background.
I don’t want to live in this reality. I want to be that alternate version of myself. But that person isn’t compatible with the mind I have now, with who I really am. And that just leaves me with this overwhelming sadness. I feel so alone, and I can’t imagine that ever changing. Because of my guilt, and how fearful I am of others now. There are no good options left for me in life. It’s just a question of whether suicide is the least bad option.