I can only see my failure. My attempts to strive and be something but always dragged back. 

I am not afraid of the difficult territory, or of challenging myself. I think I’ve been able to do that and face things and change. Perhaps that’s an incorrect assessment.  But I can’t change my past and I can’t live with it and what it has made me. That is fairly simple. 

That’s the pretending; everyone thinking I’m strong and capable. My past will always define me, even by default. By saying I’m strong means im not really much apart from what happened. It’s like everyone can see it, that that is all they can see, at the same time it can’t be seen, they can’t see it and therefore can’t see me. 

I am so trying to hold it together. 

It’s the soothing and peace of death which is so appealing. Of course,  there are other benefits, but not carrying the knowledge that I am not enough, that I am vile and broken and that I am not giving that to others, is appealing. And no mind fuck conflict. 

I cannot see the colour of the sheet. I can see it in my mind but I can’t see the colour. ???? Why? I see blood. I see my arm, I see my legs on the bed. I did it purposefully so why is it not there. What is wrong with me that I can’t see that? It’s distressing and frustrating and embarrassing and doubt producing. It makes everything invalid and I hate that.