Monologue: Who am I?

Who am I anymore, I used to know, I could tell by the swollen eyes in the reflection of the dusty mirror, but now it’s no use, my eyes are no longer blackened by running mascara from the relentless, endless tears. I don’t know who I am when I’m not searching for the blade of a slightly dull knife, sharp enough to hurt, dull enough to lighten the scars.  Who am I without my blue? What are my pass-times other than surfing the waves of the deep blue depression,
sinking





and sinking







and sinking some  more.


Who am I without the midnight bathroom runs, puking my brains out, and not because I had too much too drink, but because I had had too much to eat. Who have I become? Being special was being in pain, but out of pain, I am no longer special. It’s almost less worth it to live being boring and sane than it is being on the verge of a meltdown at all times of the day. Maybe it’s impossible to every be content with how your life turned out. Maybe you’re doomed to want what you can’t have, even if you want to be depressed again, just because it was more interesting, more invigorating, more beautiful when each perfect tear dribbles gracelessly down your pale, ugly face. I am a nobody amongst the millions of nobodies in the world. I used to be something, but now I’m something that is healed… I’m a nobody.