That feeling. Like I’m being watched.

I can’t shake this; it’s taken over my body, my mind, my soul. “They know… they all know,” my mind drones on helplessly.

They know I’m ruined, they know I’m horrible, they know I can’t help it.

But can’t I?

I try to shower it off. “You’ll feel better when you’re clean,” they tell me. But I can’t wash my soul. I can’t reach into my brain and scour out the ugly parts.

But we’re all broken, right? I try to remind myself that I’m not alone. I try to reach inside, sift around, bring the good to the surface. I know I’m good… I think. But how can someone /know/ this? No one else can give a proper second opinion; they can’t see the perpetual dark eating away at my chest and stomach.

Maybe it’ll get better.

All I can do is try.