Invisible Girl

 

(Once you become real, you can never become unreal again.)

       -Margery Williams The Velveteen Rabbit

 

          Every day I hold against me an invisible sheild protecting me from anger, guarding me from sadness or fear, and impairing my ability to be happy.  No matter how many daggers are hurled towards me, I cannot feel a single one; I can feel it, and hear the whoosh as it goes flying past me, but it doesn't touch me.  I am told I'm on a steady path to self destruction, that I shall become little more than a hopeless failure, that I am cruel, selfish and without empathy.  I am cynical an apathetic, with a non-pragmatic enigma of a mind, and a sullen transparency woven throughout my soul.  When I smile, they tell me I am odd, and worry.

          I often draw on the fact that I have no feelings, and this being said, posess a blank and restless disposition.  But I feel emptiness and longing - the wish to fill this awful void with contentment and satisfaction.  For this I do feel selfish, for I have the ability to be happy in a distant world in my imagination, and this frustrates me, for the world in which I feel is non-physical.

          For so long I have felt nearly invisible, not to everyone around me, but within my own being.  Oft I can look in the mirror and see the vision of a girl staring back at me, though I am certain she is not who I am.  Sometimes looking in the mirror is like looking a picture of a complete stranger.  This is usually quite frightening.

          Imagine waking up in a strange place, with an unfamiliar smell, and the distant droning of an unfamiliar alarm clock, which you can't even find to silence. 

then, almost robotically, being compelled to dress in clothes never before worn, to search annoyingly through an odd looking dresser, and feeling most uncomfortable wearing someone else's clothes.

          Somehow, you know that everything is not strange, but you feel like it is.  You know where everything is, and what it is you're expected to be doing, but you have trouble doing it.  You know you must appear calm and composed, but inside, you are anything but.  You want to tell somebody you are afraid, that you have lost control, but you know they won't understand, and think you crazy.  You are invisible.  In your own body, in your own bedroom, you do not exist.  You are not delirious, nor tired, and from the outside, you look perfectly normal. 

          It's a good thing people can't see the inside.

 

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