I hate my arms. I’m covered in scars. I smile and pretend I’m totally fine, I laugh and I joke. Among my friends I’m the one who cheers them up, gives the best advice, makes them laugh. Do they genuinely feel close to me? I don’t feel close to them. I don’t really feel close to anyone. I can’t let people in.
I was doing a good job of it recently, I was opening up. Light was shining a little in my life. Just a teeny bit. I pined for years. I pined and I pined and I pined. Finally last year I realized my pining was pointless. I wasn’t going to get what I wanted and the best thing I could do was just walk away. I couldn’t help the situation.
I’m just tired, I’m dog tired. I’ve had enough. For some reason I just can’t seem to cope with the world. I’ve had a lot thrown at me, I know. I’ve dealt with caring for family with depression, I’ve dealt with death as a close companion, I’ve dealt with abandonment, I’ve dealt with abuse, I’ve dealt with rejection. I know the dark side to life. I have always lived in it. For a long time, going into my depression felt like going home. As though I was embracing my truest self. There was a sick satisfaction from knowing that no one else knew, not really. This was what I really am. Just a monster, just misery.
I don’t feel the satisfaction. I’m stuck. I have no way out. Whichever path I choose to go down is going to lead to me being heartbroken. As I permanently am.
I’m so sick. I’m in so much pain. And that’s just the physical side of things. Because being depressed isn’t enough, I have to be disabled as well. Double whammy. I just want to escape from everything. I want to run from everyone in my life, especially me. I want the pain to go away. I want the difficult decisions to go away. I waited for so long for you. We are soul mates. I know that. No one knows me like you do. But, so much happened. I had to move on when I realized you weren’t coming back to me. I had to. It was that, or die, and too many people would be fucked up by me offing myself.
I moved on. I have moved on. That doesn’t mean that every day isn’t hard. That doesn’t mean that every day I wish things had been different. That doesn’t mean I don’t rue my current situation. That doesn’t mean I don’t still think you are my soul mate. It doesn’t. I just can’t do it. I’m tangled up in another bloody mess that wasn’t a bloody mess until I found out how you felt. Now it’s a heaping mess and I’m isolated from everyone and totally unable to talk to anyone about this situation. I would have talked to him a month ago, but now I can’t. I would have talked to you, as I always had, but now I can’t do that either. I’m stuck between a rock and a hard place and all I want to do is just quit. Exit. Escape. Not have to deal with any of it any more.
Oh, to run off. Live in the woods in a little shack all alone with my dogs. But that’s impossible and naive. Other people complicate everything. I can’t have any of my dreams. My illness tore my ability to drown myself in work and my ambitions away. Now I’m left with the same shit day in day out and no way to help myself. I want to escape.