Maybe I’ll spend the rest of my life this way. Maybe I’m okay with it.

Maybe people don’t realize that there are a lot of things I don’t tell them. Maybe people think they’ve got me all figured out when really they know absolutely nothing at all. Maybe people close to me have just seen a fraction of who I truly am. Maybe they won’t like the rest of it, maybe I won’t even care if they do. I’m tired of people. I’m tired of the people I know. I’m sick of them thinking they know me. No one knows me. No one.

All I know is I’m doing this now, for myself, to feel happy, to feel worthy, to validate my existence. 

Sure, I’m still fleshy, sure, my willpower is still pretty wonky. But I know I’ll get there. I did it once and I’ll do it again. I want people to stare at me. Not because I look good, but because I look fragile. I want that so bad, and I don’t know how to explain this to the people around me. I want to disappear. I want to kill the monster that lives inside me. I want to be free.