I try to dress nicely, I put make-up on and I smile. But, behind all that on the inside I feel broken. I feel pain. I feel incomplete. I don’t feel happy. I pretend to be happy. I’m not even sure if I know or if I have ever been truly happy. I don’t even know if I would know what happiness felt like. Sometimes I’m so sick because I drank too much or I took too many pills. Sometimes I just don’t want to wake up. I sometimes fantasize about being hit by bus, falling in front of a train or being run off the road by a truck. I think about your shot guns. I think about doing drugs. I think about driving away and never coming back. I think about taking a plane to Europe and moving into some remote area where no one knows my name or face.
I’ve tried to create the life I wanted, but I’ve never been truly happy. I feel trapped. I feel like my life is a lie. Maybe that’s why I have debt collectors because the life I fantasized about and created I never really had. Now it feels like my life collapsed. I sometimes feel as though I hate everything and everyone. I’m secretly envious of other people that are happy. I sometimes feel like God is playing a bad joke on me. I don’t want to be here, I don’t feel like I belong. God won’t let me have a baby. Maybe because I’m not worthy. Maybe because I have nothing to offer. I feel invisible. I feel like no one hears me. No one sees me. I’m tired. I just want to be okay.