“Empty”

I shouldn’t have to feel like this. I want to scream, cry, and ask why over and over again until someone listens… but it’s never enough. Not for them, not for her, and certainly not for me. I could never remember, clearly, a time when I was happy. Other people talk as though growing up was the hardest part, but I can’t recall a time when anything was easy.

 I don’t remember much at all.

I don’t know whether to be happy of that fact or to be terrified of what that might mean. I feel like I just want it to be the worst case scenario because then I would feel justified in my emotions, my sanity, my life. 

People say I’m damaged, but why does that make me feel better than any positive words like “you’re beautiful” ever could? What is it about being miserable that draws me in? I know some of it has to do with my writing, and the belief that beauty comes from darkness, from suffering. I can’t honestly tell if I’m crazy or if there is merit to what people say about me. 

I have this idea in my head that I’ll never measure up or be ill enough to be seen. I’m a ghost. The shadow that lurks behind you because it’s nothing without a host. Feeding off others energy and morphing it into mine. I want to believe that I’m unique, my own person, but then I look at my life from an outside perspective and I’m confused. 

I feel trapped inside a costume that I never learned how to take off. I loved acting so much because it allowed me to add layers that I could change over time. Gave me the release of something that I could never truly get rid of. 

I’m just so tired. Years of wearing makeup that’s glued to my skin, so much that I don’t remember who’s underneath. I drag my feet across the ground because I’m shackled by a heavy dress pulling me backwards.

 The little girl screams at me to let go but she too is fake. The imagery of a girl that never looked like me. Taking off one costume only to find a dozen more. I’m not even sure if there’s a real one to begin with. I’m scared that once it’s unveiled you’ll only find emptiness. A black void deeper than any mask ever was, and then I’ll truly be lost.