Today began long before it should have.  I woke up with that feeling that always returns, that feeling of my breath being unbearably heavy in my chest.  I begin to question everything.  I become saturated in the desire to disappear.  What seemed clear yesterday reveals itself as a lie.  Who I thought I could be is so far out of reach and I want to tear my skin off, trade in my heart and my mind, transform into a clean slate.  The weight is unbearable.  The weight of my body and my thoughts.  The same phrase loops over and over in my mind, the thought I have had since I was a child….I can’t do this anymore.

I have been wondering lately if my writing is really my truth, or if the actual truth is that I use words as a cloak to shield myself from my own hollowness.  I am without substance, without desire.  How many times can I write about the same boring things before it becomes clear that I am empty inside.  Why do I want to be more than I am?  Why do I think I need to be smart, sensitive, deep thinking?  I am not those things.  I am a fat, middle-aged woman, who has spent her life striving to feel alive, and failing.  I have no idea what’s true, who I am; my mind won’t let me see those things.  It fails me and I fail everyone around me, and I stumble, and each time I fall, the wounds cut with more rage and never truly heal.  I am so tired.

This is what my mind does to me.  I give it names; depression, self loathing, compulsivity, disenchantment.  Its name doesn’t matter.  A name doesn’t make it go away.  A name doesn’t keep it from ripping any spark of happiness from my heart.  A name doesn’t make it stop telling me I am worthless.  A name is hollow, just like me.

I want to change, but how can I change when I don’t have the energy to breathe.  I don’t recognize myself.  Perhaps that is because I have never seen myself. I believe I am the fool, the joke, the sad excuse tucked away in the corner.  I am also the enemy of that person. I abuse her, belittle her, tell her that every inch of her is defective, that her life was never meant to be.  She believes me.  I am not a nice person.

I don’t seek sympathy.  I don’t require reassurance.  I know the drill. This is how my mind works.  This is how it fucks with me over and over again.