Swallowed

I’m scared.

 

I am scared of being more worthless than how I already think I am.

I am scared of myself and of what I am not able to do.

I am afraid of my weaknesses; my failures.

I am so afraid of the darkness that looms above my head and the screams that are no longer distant.

I am afraid of them hearing me cry, and of them seeing how weak I really am.

I am afraid of lions and snakes that eat up my soul slowly as nightmares of the past and future haunt me.

I am terrified of my hands that are unable to do what I am supposed to.

I am scared of living life and ending it uselessly, proving to the world that that is all I really am, useless and afraid.

I cannot scream or move. My flesh feels numb and my eyes no longer have tears to let out even the smallest of cries.

My body is empty, useless; as if my soul had left it.

I want to be happy. I want to change. But how do I change something I cannot see?

I can only feel.

I feel the words like knives that scrape at my throat whenever I try to speak out. My voice does not work and words continue to torment me as I am unable to use them for my own.

I can feel the scorching heat of the flames of what I have let myself be. That's what I am now, an object caught in the flames, slowly blackening, turning to ash. Then wiped away by the wind.

The mere air I breathe feels like acid in my lungs and I exhale sulfur. It burns my insides. 

What is wrong with me?

What have I become?

I used to feel complete, important, and unafraid.

I used to be brave. I was sure of who I am.

Who was I now?

Why did I do this to myself in the first place?

I can pretend and pretend to be what I am not. I can pretend to be joyful, cheerful, excited in all the things this world could offer.

I no longer am. I feel dead.

Do you ever just feel that? Dead? Useless? Garbage? Alone.

I guess, everyone does.

But I’m still scared.

I’m scared that maybe, what if... dead is all I ever will be.