I’ve been feeling relatively terrible recently, yet it seems like everyone else is doing just fine. Well, everyone is doing fine except for  the people involved in my life. They’re attached to me, but not nearly as attached as I am to them. I want their affection, but it seems to drain them. I want to leave to make them happy, but leaving only seems to make them more upset. We’ve all had a friendship or relationship like this, but it seems as if every single person I’m connected to is either like this or flat out wants to get rid of me.

I’ve been depressed before, and at a young age. Apparently it isn’t uncommon for fat children to want to kill themselves before hitting puberty, so I don’t think that part of myself was too off. But I am different in some form. Even when I lost the weight, I was still different. I process things differently, I speak differently, I move differently, I look different. Certainly not better, but different. I don’t like it. I long to be normal.

I’ve had my share of trauma. Abusive relationships, eating disorders, anxiety, depression, hallucinations. To say it more simply, I’ve been dead inside before. But never have I been actually dead. Not until recently.

About four-ish months ago I was in bed with my ex boyfriend (it’s more of just a break, but I’m saying ex until we get back together – and depending on circumstances that might not even happen), and before then I would often ask him if he was real. I felt as if he was a robot or figment of my imagination. But as I questioned him more and more, I began to realize that it wasn’t that he wasn’t real, it was that the environment around me wasn’t real.

I realized I was dead.

This blog is to document my discoveries on what I’ve called DeadWorld. Hopefully I’ll find my way out of here.


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