My real truth is too frightening to say out loud; thus I carry it around my neck like a noose. A noose which grows heavier each day until eventually it will choke the air out of my lungs.
I don’t want to die.
I hate my life.
My life is not what I want it to be. If I were to dare say these words and they touched the air, certainly my world would shatter. Or, even worse, nobody would be listening. Those who are left around me would turn my truth into their world.
I do not live, I exist only for the collective “them”. There are so many, just countless mornings that I dread the day ahead. Waiting for the hours to pass quickly I listen to everyone else’s problems and absorb them into my body.
My misery, loneliness and pain are being compounded by the fact that I’ve chosen to burden myself with toxic pain. Toxic, selfish and sick people who believe I’ve got shoulders of granite. My body is ravaged by their constant stream of needs, wants and arrows shot at close proximity.
I hate the life that I have created. I fantasize about the sweetness of freedom. To be alone and no longer burdened or attacked, closing my eyes tightly it is real. Sadly, eyes opened, I am a hostage to the life that I chose.
That, is My Real Truth.