Wishes don't come true. Miracles don't happen. I found myself wishing for my life to be the way it was. But you know what? I actually wish it was some kind of fantasy world where my whole family loved and supported me, a life where I HADN'T been abused since the age of 5, a life where people believed in me, or just plain believed me. My life wasn't that way, so what is this false reality floating through my head? "It does not do to dwell on dreams...and forget to live."
I've come to the healthy mental position where I know suicide is not an option. That doesn't mean I like the life I'm living. Go ahead, roll your eyes. If you knew half of what I've been through...and again, roll your eyes, because all the world knows is that my life has been rainbows and cotton candy and I'm just a selfish narcissist for whom nothing is good enough. Being physically and mentally tortured most of my life took its toll, and holding on to those secrets for 20 years broke me. It's like a broken vase. You can glue the pieces together, but you can still see the cracks and poorly done glue job, plus missing spots where pieces were lost in the wreckage. It will never be whole again. All you can hope for is that, from far away, people won't notice the missing pieces, or the cracks and the crappy glue job done to mask what really happened.
Back on mood stabilizers now...hopefully they will make me an unfeeling zombie, where the world is so blurry that even up close I can't see the cracks or trauma of a broken girl. I'd rather feel nothing than feel this emptiness, these feelings of being unwanted, unloved, and a burden and nuisance to those who matter most to me. Ignorance is bliss, I hear.
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