Harvest out my bones

I don't know what to do with all this emotion, I feel like I'm overflowing in it, and I don't know how to release any of it.

I can't remember the exact time I died, because I don't think I ever formed into a person. I've always felt like this shell, a ghost, air that melts into the walls, the emptiness that's trapped there.

"You do not matter" is the voice I constantly hear in my head, and it eventually became embedded into my soul, it's in the way I drag myself because I'm too heavy to carry. It's in the words I never say, it's in the smile and agreeableness that people mistake for contentedness. This heaviness of not mattering is encased in every decision I make, in every decision I decide not to make, in every word and situation I swallow away. Years of this turns me into a volcano that amazingly never erupts, instead it only makes me shrink under the weight and more liable to disappear.

Everything is pointless, it's not like anyone can feel me slipping away. And i don't know how to release these dark feelings. I was born without a voice, and the little confidence I had was stolen from under me, and I was left floundering. Ironic that I was never taught how to swim, being that I was never taught how to keep myself from sinking.

I tell myself that being alone means that I have the time and space to pour my soul out onto the page. But that never happens. I start to feel like there's absolutely no point in writing out words that will mean nothing to the world, that mean absolutely nothing to me. I wish I was one of those people who tear themselves apart and create art out of their broken, bloody pieces. I don't have the patience or energy to peel myself layer by layer, so don't bother telling me it takes time, that the search is worth it. Digging is honestly worth nothing when all it does it bury you alive. but if I could I would cut myself to the bone and carve out something worth keeping, something I can save as a souvenir, something tangible that proves I have a heart that beats unlike anyone else's. But my biggest fear is that cut into my core will only reveal a hollow state of mind, that no depths actually reside in this heart, that how I feel will never materialize into anything of substance. That the person I dream of becoming will continue to starve and die alone behind a wall that no one can break down. That I'll never heal and feel I'm worth something.