To be honest, I am at a really weird place. Since self-destructing, there has just been constant recovery or a lack of. Every week I wonder if it will be shittier than last week and sometimes it is but sometimes it is just the same amount of shitty. It doesn’t get better. It just gets tolerable, until it isn’t.

I don’t feel like myself and I haven’t felt like myself since September. I am a hollowed out version of myself. I go through the day wondering when I will suddenly just feel like myself again. I’m starting to lose hope that I will ever find myself again. There’s too much shit that has snuffed out any last remembrance of me. I miss that version of myself so much but I have changed.

It makes sense though. I had to adapt to my environment. After self-destruction I had to endure all the dirt that had been swept under the rug for years and my old self would never be able to handle it. So I changed into a version of myself that could withstand the terror, and even the new version struggles.

I regret the self-destruction. After it happened I had to face the music before I could prepare and it was torturous and sometimes still is.

Everything hurts right now because it doesn’t hurt. I feel nothing. Absolutely nothing, and that is worse than anything I could imagine. I miss pain, I miss the sting.

Now everything is just a dull ache and a pounding in my head that only offers noise.

Everyday I feel myself closing up more and more. I want to be my old self and be with my friends all the time, making reckless decisions. But there is this voice in my head that tells me otherwise and suddenly my bed seems like a much better option. I would rather stay home. I would rather sleep than see anyone.

I crave release so desperately. I just want to be myself. I want to feel something. I want to want things. I want to wish for more days and breathe in life. But I can’t.