Every Way That Matters

 

I am so close, so tangibly close, to the person I want to be. 

     I am so close to  her, yet she is never within my reach.  It's as if everytime I overcome a hurdle in my haste to find her, she builds another one, only this time, one that is ten times stronger.  It is as if I'm not supposed to be happy. 

     But I don't want to give up yet; I have not reached the end, although I'm not entirely sure what the end really looks like for me. 

     Is it death?  When I have finally pushed my body to the edge of the cliff, after years of starvation and purging and exhaustion?  Or is it when I finally swallow all those tiny white pills in that little orange container that are oh so tempting. 

     When will I finally realize that I have had enough of this life that is not a life but is a shell of what life should be.  I am not living; I am a ghost with a beating heart.

     I am alone in every way that matters.  And there is no happy ending in sight. 

     So until my ending comes, until I am put out of my misery, I will continue on with my terrible sickness.  In fact, I will care for it more and more from now on, more so than I ever have, because right now, I need it the most.  I need to feel something, anything. 

     I am a numb corpse, alive yet unable to breathe.  My body lives in the daylight while my souls sleeps in the dark.  I am starving in many more ways than one. 

     I want to feel again.  Feel anything.  Anything at all. 

     Which is why I won't eat today.  Because that way, I can be in both physical and emotional pain, and no one will even slightly notice, because to them, the truth I know, the truth I hold so dear, is all lies to them.  They don't believe I am capable of this. 

     But they don't know me.  I could shock them with the things I have done, the things I have seen in my life.  They no not the ways in which I have changed, and I would rather they remember the me I used to be than the me I have become.  Because the Rosie I am now is a train wreck; destructive and violent, depressing and heartbreaking, unstoppable and unfixable. 

     The damage has been done to me, and there is no going back.

     So I will kill the me within, and spare the world the gory details.  I will be heroically sick.  Heroically silent, never bothering a single soul.  

     They will never know the depths of my heart, and I will take these secrets with me to my grave.