i'm yours, ghosts and all

i can’t sit still at work. i keep falling asleep at my desk. i don’t want anyone to touch me ever again, male or female. i don’t ever want to have sex again. i need to leave this town. sometimes i can’t get out of bed. i can’t read a book or watch a television show. i can’t stop being distracted by constant thoughts of self-hatred. i can’t hold a conversation for longer than a sentence or two. i can’t make eye contact with anyone. i can’t look in a mirror or reflective surface. i can’t brush my hair or my teeth. my hands are always bleeding because i keep scratching at my skin. i am disoriented by my own sadness. i feel guilty when i share a bed with my best friend. i feel like my body can’t contain all of this. i feel like my skin is too tight. i taste metal in my mouth every day. i feel incredibly sad for people who are probably happy. i feel incredibly sad for people i have never met. i feel incredibly sad for abandoned inanimate objects. i feel strangely comforted when i read about true crime and abductions. i feel strangely comforted when the world is not good. i feel nervous and inadequate when i’m around attractive women. i feel relieved when someone is attracted to me sexually. i use casual sex as a form of self-harm. i wish i had my own concept of failure. i can’t drive a car. i can’t remember most of my childhood. i feel as though i have never been the same person. i feel nostalgic for places i have never been to. i think about death every day. i think about people i will never meet. i expect and welcome rejection because it is safer. i think that i am rotting from the inside out and i am surprised when other people do not notice. i have a darkness that blooms out of me like a fucking beacon and a weight in my stomach that i can’t begin to explain or carry or even really acknowledge.