There’s a certain emptiness that comes with my being, a white pure dead-ness that envelops me when I try to sleep at night. I think back to all of the times I’ve stayed up and stared at the ceiling with nothing else to do but twiddle my fingers and hum. I could lay there for hours, days even, and I can’t help but think if anyone would notice if I disappeared. Of course people would notice, I think, but would they actually notice? My body surely is alive, but I’m starting to wonder if my mind is as well. If perhaps I lost my mind long ago, now gone to times marching arrow. What could I possibly do but accept this fate?

Oh, how I would do anything to fill up this gaping hole in my chest; how I would give every material possession I have for this void that consumes me whole. I’ll pretend it’s not there, I’ll do everything in my power to distract myself from it, but I know that it’s there to stay. I’ve tried everything… meditation, prayer, positive thinking — drugs, alcohol, sex, cutting, burning, torturing — loving another. Anything you can think of. But nothing works. I am simply not here.