I‘m standing at the edge of a cliff. That damn tape keeps playing in my head. It’s the old one. The one that makes eveIything look black and confusing. I look around and nothing, no place feels like home. It all feels cold and impersonal, and not mine. Everyone around me seems fake and superficial and carrying out a life’s plan just for their own gain. But that tape that’s playing, “I hate my life, I hate my life, I hate my life…”I feel like a ghost moving through the thick tide of a life that was once lived. A life that was normal, with things, people and events I took for granted. All of which is gone to me. I strive to create a normal pattern or flow to my life, only to have it subdued by the life I live now. A life that isn’t real. That feels good for only a moment, and then leaves me feeling guilty and paranoid. Sleep doesn’t come to me. I get stuck on one thought or one task. I realize that responsibilities are not met. I don’t even know what day of the week it is. I can’t recall when the last real meal was that I ate, and I can tell I’m dehydrated.
And I’m still feeling unfulfilled, lost, alone and afraid. I look around me and see disarray and disorganized projects. I unleash my anger toward my partner, placing all the blame on him. All I want is a normal life. I want the life I used to have, but gave up. I was so dumb. I beat myself up in my mind, over and over again. I want to feel joy. I want to laugh the way I used to laugh. I want to take care of my pets, and my home, and my partner the way I used to.
I’m sick. There’s always something wrong with me. I feel as though death could transition me at any time. So why do I persist? There are people, normal people that love me. They care for me, and will never accept this life for me. Yet I make every attempt to disguise my real life, hopefully making them think that I walk with them in the land of normalcy. But the bizarre thing is, they can see that I walk through their world differently than they do. They know. But only I can go back to the world I should be in. It’s all up to me. And until I have that insatiable desire to return, my attempts will be futile. But how much longer do I have? I’m all ready two years into a two to four year death sentence. So much I allowed to slip away. I had it all. Once. And just look at me now. No. Don’t look at me. I’m too ashamed.