03/02/2012

 I wish…that I felt nothing. 

Or, alternatively, that I felt something.

The one thing that is harder than being alone is, I think, pretending that you are not.

If I were alone, just alone, I would not have to act.  I would not have to pretend for the benefit of others.  I could be hollow and empty without feeling guilty on top of it.  Feeling guilty for feeling nothing.

When you are not alone, you cannot despair.  You must always think of someone else.  You must never be selfish, because those other people are depending on you.  You must always pull your weight and strive always for the good of the whole team.

It takes energy that I do not have.

I am sorry that I feel this way, that I feel nothing, or everything.  I am sorry that I am not strong enough to withstand the things that other people do not even register as obstacles.  I am sorry I am a burden, always demanding that you carry me because it hurts too much to walk myself.

I never meant to grow into something so pathetic, and I never meant for you to have to “tolerate” me.

I never asked you to love me, but I think you might have anyway.  I’m sorry for that as well.

I’ve given up on a lot of things.  I do not think that I will ever be happy, or that I will ever experience contentment.  This emptiness inside of me is pervasive and constant.  I do not believe I will ever be “well,” but I struggle along anyway.  I have no hope for the future, no dreams, no plans.  Today or tomorrow could be my last day, and then I might find contentment.

I used to think of dying and it scared me.  Thinking of some distant time in the future when I would cease to exist.  Now I am not scared, but look to that day with…something.  Hope, maybe.  Resignation?  Or just the feeling that someday, this will all be over and I won’t have to do it anymore.  Relief.  Someday, this WILL end, and I will cease to exist, or will pass into whatever afterlife that awaits me. 

I give nothing to the people around me.  I bring nothing positive to this world.  I do not want to die, but I am tired of living.  Every day that I continue is not for me.  I am responsible, and I will not be selfish because the rest of the group is depending on me.  I will strive for the betterment of the group, and I will wear my mask of normalcy over the gaping empty void that is my definition. 

I will find the energy.

I wish that I felt nothing.

Or, maybe, something.