there is no music in my soul. i’ve been grey and sad for a long time now. my last hurt, hurt me deeply and it seemed to sever the little strand i had held onto, that kept me hopeful, that allowed me to be content and happy. i know i’ve been self destructive and i know the reasons why. and even in the knowing, i’ve not been able to change the behaviors, while i realize they are not in my best interest.
it’s like i am hoping to feel the pain of something tragic or dangerous to shatter me out of the numbness i’ve allowed myself to envelope me, like scar tissue over a sharp foreign object, embedded deep in my tender flesh. this is the closest i’ve ever felt to complete disassociation from anything. i get no joy from anything. i process the world around me in a cynical fashion, not believing in anything other than the innocent, narcissistic violence of children before they are taught societal rules and compassion.
i don’t believe in love. i do not trust people to stay in your life. they don’t. and they never will. i almost feel sorry for people who live in a world where they are unaware of how false the idea of that is. every time i’ve allowed myself to touch it and trust it, i’ve been burned. 100% of the time, i have been damaged. there is a sadness in me now. that lay behind my eyes and won’t allow me to get lost in pleasures i once had.
i’m not even struggling with it. it’s like i’ve resigned myself to watching myself bleed out, not caring one way or the other if someone applies pressure to save me. i don;t want to put the effort into saving myself, yet again. at this point, i am more interested in the pooling blood and the feeling of cool detachment as i watch myself implode from the safety of being outside of myself. at least with , you feel it’s comforting weight, even as you struggle to breathe from underneath it.
what i feel now is a lack of feeling and that i know should be completely disconcerting on some levels and yet, i really don’t care. i’ve tried multiple things to change it, to move it, and nothing is working. i am at the point of thinking that medication might be the only option i have but i do not want to go through explaining what is happening to anyone able to prescribe me something. i am not doing therapy again. i am not sharing head space with anyone ever again.
i feel wounded in a way that makes no sense to me. and i keep trying to move beyond it, acting normally and as i should, yet there is no feeling associated with the action. my voice is dead. and where that once would fill me with dread, i simply don’t care. and my awareness that i don’t care can’t even propel me towards motivation to change as i’m done. i just don’t want to.