My entire life has been a roller coaster. I’d like to say somethings worked out, but they never did. I’ve been silent for years.
I’ve not talked about these issues that plague me daily, or the dark thoughts that infiltrate my sleep. But they are still here.
They have not gone away. I’ve just stopped talking about them.
When I look around at all the people who are allowed to talk about, to feel, their pain. I feel jealous. Jealous that someone is allowed to be on the outside, who they are on the inside.
I’ve never been allowed to fall apart. To much has ridden on me. To much is at stake.
I dream of collapsing.
I dream of screaming.
I dream of shouting the truth to everyone I know.
I’ve been to hell and back. Genuine, actual, hell. Absolutely no one actually realizes what that feels like. Because j can’t even tell them.
Because in the end I’m still just a stranger in my own life. I’m playing a character that I don’t even like.