the stranger i didnt choose

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why am i here, 
laughing at jokes i don't feel, 
saying words i don't mean, 
smiling like it's muscle memory 
and not a choice? 
i float above the noise, 
watching myself laugh, 
watching myself talk— 
this marionette with shaking strings. 
the air feels heavier now, 
like it's weighing me down to a place 
i never agreed to go.

when i'm alone, 
the silence is deafening. 
thoughts wrap tight around my chest, 
pulling until i can't breathe, 
until tears come easy, 
like they've been waiting 
just under the surface. 
i don't clean anymore. 
don't eat when i should. 
don't care like i used to. 
and it's cold all the time— 
in the air, in my hands, 
in the way i feel nothing 
but the prickling overstimulation 
of voices, footsteps, flickering lights. 
even small things— the way someone taps a pen— 
cut through me like knives. 
i notice everything. 
i notice nothing.

and who is this person i'm becoming? 
this stranger in my skin 
who doesn't laugh the same, 
doesn't think the same, 
doesn't even move the same? 
each day, it feels like i lose 
another piece of what made me, me. 
i'm spinning too fast 
to grab hold of anything solid, 
and it makes me want to scream, 
but my voice gets swallowed whole 
by this hollow ache.

am i disappearing? 
am i a ghost? 
why can't i stop this unraveling? 
i never wanted this. 
i never said yes. 
how do i go back? 
can i? 

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