I don’t know if I have felt this empty in a very long time. For the majority of my life I feel like a character. A friend, a sister, an aunt, a daughter. For each situation that I am in I put on a mask and become that character. I feel the situation to the best of my ability and act accordingly. Not saying that I do not love my friends and family, because I do. I love them fiercely and with conviction. I love them with every ounce of my being. But when I am with them, I am a character. Tailored to their personality. I am whatever they need me to be in that moment. I am their strength. I am their protector. I am their shoulder to cry on. I am everything they need. But when I am alone, there is no mask for me to put on. Not for myself. There is no mask to wear. I am me. The broken, self-hating version of myself that I am inside. There is no fooling myself. No need to pretend that I am anything else than what I truly am. I wish I had a mask for myself. A character I could play to hide the truth from myself. But there is nothing like that. I am empty. Truly empty inside. The emotions I feel in the outside world are gone. Replaced by nothing but numbness. And that soul aching emptiness. I am alone. Truly alone. I can pretend to be different characters, but it never works. The truth always finds away to slip out from inside. I am a background character in my own life. People describe me as “amazing”, but they don’t see me for what I am. I am a monster in hiding. Pretending to fit in in a world that will never understand me. People that love me unconditionally, but they have no idea what they are loving. A monster just waiting for the chance to appear. A monster kept away by will alone. But it is a will held on by a thread. I am self-destructing and no one can see. No one sees me.
January 13, 2014