Fading into the woodwork

Find me please. I'm dissipating into oblivion. I need to be found.


I'm not dissociating. I'm just missing.

My words are not my own and are borrowed from someone deep inside. I'm too scared to leave the bed; even more afraid to leave the house.

Each day is a replica of days prior. Urgent business piles up on the dresser, waiting, hoping for a brighter day when the bed will relieve me of my paralysis.

I don't know who I am right now. I took some pills to make me go to sleep. I can't deal with this reality.

My most recent burn is now a relic and I need something fresher to remind me of my worthlessness and dirtiness.

A small voice gives birth to tears and tells me I'm worth more. I want to believe her. I ask her to save me but she says the tears are enough. I feel like a failure.

I'm in the vice to burn more. I'm worthless and burning makes me feel better about myself.

It's a bad day. This too shall pass.