My coat of lonliness

It feels like I’m sad all the time. I’m wearing it like a second coat, wrapped all over me until I can’t seem to make

Out where my skin and sadness meet. They’re all the same. My eyes must’ve cried a million drops but they’re all empty like I’m crying out air. Every happy memory has a undertone of something lost and cold.

Faded from age and worn from use.

I don’t think they look the way I use to remember them. My days are spent in automation. I feel things in layers. But most times, it’s suffocating, all this lonliness and days where I am so close to the people I love but in my mind’s heart, it’s like we’re oceans apart. When I speak it’s praticed words. Things I’ve said a thousand times over and over. And they’re replies are just as puppeteered. I feel like I’m in a constant loop of theatrics, never really moving anywhere, never feeling anything new. All this sadness is about to swallow me whole and I can’t find my way out. Acts of love are painful for me to see but I force myself to see it, yearning for it but knowing I’m too afraid to reach out for it. Im self medicating myself a whole lot of heartache and I don’t know how to stop. Where my whole world seem to be only made up of fragmented moments, silent rooms, forced laughter laced with tears and texts that all say that I am not worth the time.

Am I even here?

Would people miss me?

Those questions shred around my head, tearing me apart little by little, burrowing down to illuminate my insignificany. I feel so alone in this world. So cold and alone. When did I start to feel this way? When did the world have nothing to offer.

When I close my eyes I picture a different me. She’s so foreign and so full of life. So blindingly beautiful that I shy away from her. I envy her. I see her face in every smile, every laugh and tender moments that people share but I do not see her in me. She does not exist in me. If I could, I would love to stay when I was 7 years old. Best days of my life. I was so happy then. The world makes sense. I made sense.

Again, I feel the tears pricking my eyes and that voice that says I’m weak to bawl over such a past. The voice is right. Frank and cutting, cruel in the way it speaks blank truths and as always... it is right. I am weak. I long for things of the past. Golden moments that are gone. I drawn them out; their taste and their scents so that I don’t feel the chill of my sadness coat. But like an addict, the high can only last a few moments and then the crash comes harder than anything. I’m sweating, swearing, crying, begging for that single instance when nothing mattered and I was whole again. Then it takes more doses. More

More

More

More

More

And then guilt comes surging in. Beating me lower than ever.

I am angry at myself. Angry at the way I feel. Angry at what I am right now. I want to get out of here. Crawl out of me. Crawl away.

Maybe.....

And just maybe....

Maybe if I died.....

I could start over again?