My eyes feel overbright. It feels like the medicine is making me more into what a happy person should look like. I wish it would make me feel happy.
I feel like nothing is me anymore. It's all fake. It's all an act.
Some things do stay the same, though. I'm lonely, but never alone. Does that make sense? I'm always around someone. I just feel so empty on the inside. I'm overwhelmed with all the guilt and grief, and lord knows what else from the past thirteen years.
I'm never present in conversation. You can think all you want that you're talking to me, but you're not. You're speaking to a body. You're practically talking to the medicine. My writing is the only place you aren't.
My mind is an endless tornado siren. It feels like my head is pounding. Like someone is banging it against something.
You know, I feel like I'm describing myself as a robot with feelings. Society can make robots do whatever they want. Medication can make humans do whatever they want. I feel like a robot.
What's crazy to me is that in the midst of all this, I can have days when I can be someone who's there. I have somewhat good days. I hold onto those because I really don't know what might happen tomorrow.
I'm glad I have those days. It's good to feel happy. I'm just glad I have the medication for the days I hate myself. People don't want to see what I pack so far back in my mind.
I'm starting to see him. He comes around every now and then. He's usually here on the worse days. I think it helps. I like having him around.
Am I insane?
