I feel hollow inside.
I feel like there’s something missing, some part of my genetic make up that has been lost or maybe not yet found. I feel like there’s so much of me I don’t know, but I don’t know how to go about meeting her.
How can I shake hands with myself if I don’t even know myself?
I feel like my whole world is fiction and I am merely pushed into scenes I cannot control. I know the scenes are coming, I know I can change the script, yet I sit idly by hoping someone can help me.
I can’t help myself.
Why can’t I help myself?
I have helped countless others, yet I can’t look into my own heart and soul and figure out what the fuck I’m still doing here?
I need someone to talk to that isn’t going to judge me.
I need someone to talk to that isn’t going to devalue my words.
I need someone to try to understand what’s happening inside of my shitty brain.
I’m tired of talking to the voices, the characters I make up in my mind.
It gets awfully lonely when the only person that is thought to know your truest, deepest self is lost in the wind of your vacant mind.
I need other people.
I just can’t ask for help.
What if I don’t matter enough?