What if the Truth Kills Me?

They say the truth will set you free… so why do I feel like the truth is just going to kill me?

Tomorrow. Tomorrow is my last day as I currently know it.

I know I should be happy about this but I am not because truthfully, even though I am not actually going to commit suicide (I’m not back to that depressed) I feel as though when I let go of this secret on Thursday I will, in essence, be killing a part of me. Like I am voluntarily putting myself in the line of fire and killing myself.

I know I have sat here and tried to explain it, like there is two of me (at least) inside my head. The “voice” that tells me to get help vs. the one that is screaming obscenities when the thought crosses my mind and promises to keep me protected. I am also aware of how psychotic that sounds- to have “voices” in your head. I can only explain it as sort of two subconscious, kind of like the devil and angel cartoons sitting on your shoulder except I never really know which one is the devil.

And tomorrow, Wednesday, will be the last full day I let myself be like that. I should be elated, hopeful, excited. But I am not. In fact, I might be experiencing every emotion ever, except the ones dealing with happiness, positivity and relief because NONE of those are how I feel. Not even in the slightest. Instead, I honestly feel like I am a murderer. Like I am crucifying myself, harming myself and making a mistake. In my heart I know and feel I cannot continue like this any longer- I can actually feel it, my chest hurts every.single.day. But, I feel like I am in mourning and like I am the one who is dying all at the same time. If it was possible to mourn your own death, I am fairly certain this would equate to the same emotion.

Simultaneously I feel an insane amount of fear and anxiety over not only telling someone about my secret life but also over: the scale. I fear it will go up and then I’ll just look like an idiot. I fear what it will say because one time I got on and it went up and I actually almost went through with trying to commit suicide until I looked around and realized someone would have to (1) find me and (2) tell my little niece and nephew and that scared me out of it and scared me to the point of never EVER wanting to get on that thing again. I fear the response of the doctor. I fear they won’t believe me. I fear they will believe me too (go figure). I fear the looks I’ll get as I walk out. I fear they won’t let me ever go home afterward (I know this is totally irrational but still, I worry I will wind up in a hospital and be forced to stay until I eat and I am petrified of the thought of eating unsafe hospital food). I am petrified they will make me eat at the office. I am scared they will run tests and think nothing is wrong. I am scared I will have to continue to live like this. I am scared I will have to give this up. I am just plain scared.

And you want to know what I am most scared of: What if, when I do this,  what if I lose this “evil” part of me….and what if it’s replaced by something worse?