Life in my world...

Sometimes I feel my mind is a prism cell.  I am locked inside with all of the debris of my past life, my labels, my diagnoses, all the medicines and potions that turned out to be cruelly false hopes.  All the roles and identities that I have tried on, inhabited briefly and discarded like clothes that don't fit in some psychic dressing room.  No one understands me, no one who can understand me can unlock the cell and take me back to a place where I felt valued and protected and loved -- if there is any way back to that place, if that place ever existed.  I wish I could find that person.  I scare so many people, but they don't know that I scare myself a million times more.  I hate for them being afraid.  They don't know what it's like.  To be completely alone in a crowded room, to have words come in a jumble or not at all, to be truely afraid, to not have some calm and still center of a life, to question every memory and every thought, to despise the very flesh they inhabit, to want to run and run and run towards darkness, to believe that nothingness is better than the gnawing bain of existence, to not know how to feel or act or to love, to not remember the simplest answers to the simplest problems, to believe that gravity itself has failed.  I want them to know all of this about me and more and then see if they dare judge me or expect anything from me other than what I am.  It is so loud in my cell sometimes.  Like a maelstrom of static.  It hides the words I need to hear.  I listen for those words so hard my head hurts.  Sometimes I think I see it, feel it, hear it, the path... is that it?  Could that be it?  Then it flickers away... obliterated by the impenetrable white noise.  I want it to go away.  I'm scared because I don't know my role in recovery, although I know I have one.  I wish I could trust me more.  I wish I could give myself hope and not fear.  Sometimes I wish I had neither... it would be better that way...