I can’t ever say what I’m thinking without butchering it. It always sounds better in my head. Somehow the words get lost in translation and I am misunderstood. My written words capture my heart perfectly. This heart is tired from constantly giving and rarely getting anything back. It’s just exhausting to care so deeply for others. It’s my curse.
I don’t know that I will ever give you this letter. Maybe I shouldn’t pour my soul out onto this page for you to see. Will you even see me? Do you have any idea who I really am? I’m not certain that I know myself anymore. I’ve clawed my way back from the bottom more than once. I may have put myself there a time or two. I’ve let my own mind destroy me. Sickness stole my joy. Depression left me crippled. I came back. I’m not who I want to be. I’m spread too thin. I’m a terrible mother and a horrible friend. I want to be better. Truth is that I can’t do all the things I need to at once.
I don’t know how much of my dysfunction you can handle. My sadness is overwhelming at times. I’m moody and angry for no good reason. I’m afraid of everything and of nothing all at once. I’m a damn mess. You should run away. I’m no good for you or anyone else. The kindness I have for others completely hides the hate I harbor for myself. It’s hell being me. I’m not easy to love nor am I easy to deal with. I’m so complex. It’s ridiculous. I guess what I’m trying to say is I’m broken.
I’m not who you think I am. The ugly will start to bleed through eventually. I don’t want you to care about me. God forbid you fall in love with me. I will destroy you. I will shut down. I don’t know when I will come back to you. I am damaged beyond repair. It pains me to admit the worst of myself. I can’t lie to you. I won’t. You need to know there is a darkness that won’t leave me. I don’t know if it ever will. This is me. There is beauty in the darkness. I am living proof.