Dying

I’m dying and there’s nothing anyone can do. I wish it didn’t have to be this way, but sometimes life…and death…aren’t what we want for them to be. Mine will be an invisible death. Nobody will see it happening and they may not notice when it’s done. I’m dying from the inside out and because of you, nobody can see the pain.

You encouraged me to stop hiding, to put myself out into the world, and then you locked me in a closet and because of who you are, I can’t tell anyone. Instead, I take the pain into myself and stare blankly ahead as it eats away at my soul. Soon, there will be nothing left. I’ll just be a shell. Useless and empty but no one will notice.

I’ve stopped eating. The pain is too much. He places food in front of me, begging me to take a bite, to eat anything, but I can’t, not even for him. The thought of eating chokes me and I gag. There are bruises on my body, hidden away. Nobody will see them and no one will know the physical damage that I’ve caused myself. Glass dildos have multiple purposes, after all. Soon I will add a new layer of bruising. I cannot let the bruises fade.

Soon it won’t matter though because as the pain and bruises fade away, so do I. Soon there will just be a body where I once was. Soon there won’t even be that. I’m dying and there’s nothing anyone can do because I can never share this pain. Soon I will return all of the things that made me yours. I am no longer beautiful. I am hideous in my pain. I don’t deserve what you gave me before you took it all away. Soon it won’t matter. Someone else will have it.

Piece by piece, I’ll give it away just like piece by piece I die. Others will love it, but none will love me. Eat something, he begs of me again, but I can’t. My head is spinning and I just want to go. I struggle to find my breath. My voice is long gone. The only thing left is a tight pain in my throat where the words have piled up. I want to scream, to beg someone to help me, to take away the pain, but the words won’t come and I can only stare wildly about, tears streaming down my face.

It’s too late. I’m too far gone. I want to tell you that I love you, to beg for you to tell me that it will be okay, but we both know better. It won’t. I’m done. I’m over. I’m dying and there’s nothing anyone can do.

spacer

One comment on “Dying

Leave a reply