Write like no one is reading. in Like No One Is Reading

New goal.

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Sometimes I stand up to leave the room, pick up my phone, and set it back down again. The thoughts, in fully formed sentences, enter my mind. It sounds like a voice similar to my own. “Why bother? You’re not going to miss anything. No one is going to talk to you. No one loves you. No one even knows you exist.”

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Sometimes I feel overwhelmed with grief at the idea that I know more dead people than live ones, and I’m not even sure that’s true.

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“Just eat it, who cares? No one, that’s who.”

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I think I should paint and so I do but lately it seems like I can’t finish anything because I decide that it sucks almost as soon as I start and I set it aside to dry and then stick it between some books, out of sight, and try to forget it exists.

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“No one is gonna like it. It’s a stupid painting.”

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No one is coming to save me. I don’t know if I can save myself.

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I’m not depressed, exactly. Some days I do have the fleeting thought that death would be better, though. Quieter, maybe.

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Trauma looks like bursting into tears randomly and then fixing your makeup and taking a smiling selfie to show the world that you’re okay even when you’re not.

Why do we try so hard to “be okay”? Why should I have to feel ashamed of not being okay? That’s horseshit, I think. My friend said she was embarrassed by her anxiety and I said why the fuck? What do we have to be embarrassed about? We didn’t do this to ourselves. We didn’t make ourselves this way.

I didn’t ask for this, that’s for fucking sure.

Why do I try so hard to seem okay?

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Maybe I am depressed after all. Maybe it’s stupid to think I’m ever not depressed. Maybe it’s stupid to think I’ll ever be any more than just okay.

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Last updated February 14, 2021