I feel as though there is something very fundamental that is broken inside me, but I’m not sure what. Everyone else is completely alien to me, it’s like they’re a different species. I can’t truly feel any connection to anyone, even those that I deeply care for and love still feel alien. I don’t experience any positive emotions to the extent that others do, if at all. My lows are the only parts of me that I ever feel, and that’s still rare. I am filled with pain and hate, and yet I still feel so numb and empty. I hate so much about myself that I don’t even fully understand myself. Inside my head is a constant flood of thousands of concurrent voices screaming, every one of them belonging to me. I just want the pain to stop, but I don’t know what to do. I can’t even fully comprehend the fundamental concept of others; I can’t wrap my head around the fact that others have their own consciousness and autonomy. Even those that I love feel like high functioning automotons, and I’m simply an unwilling puppet dancing on a stage of broken glass. I desperately want to escape this hell, but I can’t even do that. I’ve had a gun to my own head countless times, screaming and tensing every single muscle inside my body except the one single muscle that I need to finally pull that trigger, and it makes me hate myself as a coward. I want so badly to be able to join the rest of the world and feel as though I’m not simply an outsider who is observing those around me. I want to connect, but I don’t know how and never have. Every breath is agony, as though I’m breathing nothing but shattered glass and blood. Every thought inside my head is lost in the maelstrom of screaming. Every moment I wake I wish to return to the dirt and sleep a dreamless sleep until the end of all days. I understand the factual idea that others think and feel, but I cannot fathom the philosophical and emotional concept of such. I wear a constant mask, because those around me cannot be allowed to view even a shred of my true pain and hatred. If they only knew, they would try to help, and it would make it so much worse. I don’t want to be acknowledged in my pain, and yet I want to scream from the mountaintops all the years of suffering that ferments inside my soul. I feel connection to nothing and nobody, not even myself. I feel like nothing but the whisper of a ghost inside a hollow shell of profaned flesh. I want to live, truly live, but I don’t know how. If I cannot live, I wish to die, but I don’t have the will to extinguish the final pitiful flame of senseless hope that prevents my one single finger from moving that one single fraction of an inch, even knowing that it would be the one thing I know can set me free from my own hell. I cannot hurt those around me, even though I am fully unable of comprehending the emotions of others. I am nothing but an unwilling puppet on razor wire strings, dancing on a stage of broken glass, screaming my silent scream through hollow eyes and wooden lungs.