There are times that I think that I feel nothing at all. That everything I do, every emotion I feel, is numbed by a deadened sense that I’m watching life through the disconnected lens of a dream. There are times I look in the mirror and see all the tiny little scars where I’ve picked at myself, either injuries that I never let heal right or little bumps that were torn into scars. There are the times when even through the haze I feel, stress hits me so damn hard that I just want to strangle myself until it all stops hurting. There are times when I m********* hard enough to make myself bleed just to try and feel some pleasure in this life. There are times I think back to stupid, tiny little mistakes or embarrassing moments in my life that are utterly meaningless and forgotten by no doubt everyone else involved because years have passed and I just kick myself over it all over again, sometimes even hitting myself to try and forget. And I’m often the one who all my friends lean on for support, who talk them through their own anxieties. At those times, I feel like a dead tree supporting saplings trying to get through life while rotting through my own.