Please note: This is not a true story. Sure parts of it may ring true to me or to you or to the people we read about in magazines while we wait in line at the grocery store…or maybe I just dreamed all this shit up….the point is, the thoughts described below in no way, shape or form are meant to represent present reality and if they do it is entirely coincidental. So if you don’t mind, let’s not call this a true story but instead let’s just call it creative expressionism.
And if you do find yourself leaning towards truth when you read this post, then I empathize with you because that reality is an extremely painful place to be.
5 things my inside voice says out loud when you aren’t listening
My perfectionism can be exhausting.
And I look at my life and just wish it was over.
And no, I don’t want to kill myself.
I’m just saying if today turned out to be my day to die, I would be extremely grateful for that.
And yes, on those days I may fantasize a lot, in very graphic detail, about walking into traffic.
Sometimes I feel, that no matter how hard I try, I will always be this flawed person unworthy of love.
From an intellectual point of view I know this is utter bullshit.
But from an emotional point of view, as in, I feel this to be true on a cellular level; I’m not quite as disbelieving.
It is hard to separate thoughts from feelings and emotions from thoughts.
Sometimes it is so hard to separate, I cannot differentiate between thoughts, feelings or emotions.
My feelings are so strong, my emotions explode out of me and the thoughts attached, form bonds so tight in my brain they become truth.
It feels like someone took an ice cream scoop to my chest and scraped my heart out.
The emptiness pummels my gut so hard, I can’t breathe.
And spikes of shooting pain flow from my core and vomit out of me.
I’m a disease with no cure.
A plague upon my humanity.
Some days it doesn’t matter what happened, I have failed.
It comes from living a life where I never felt I could do the right thing and as a consequence I felt constantly punished for it.
People ask me if I believe in hell.
And I say yes.
I know there is a hell because I live there.
It doesn’t matter if you hate me, love me, are indifferent towards me or don’t even know who I am, I will interpret all your interactions with me as a failure on my part.
You will never be able to fulfil the ideal I have of you in my head.
That ideal of how things should be between us.
That is because the ideal is not tangible it is an emotional state.
An emotional state that warms, decimating my foundational truth that everything I do is wrong.
Somehow my interactions with you should make me feel better.
But I never feel better.
You will never be good enough for me.
Because I am never good enough for me.
Now that I got that out of me, I’m going to go eat some cookies and watch Daredevil on Netflix.