Alexithymia

Here's the thing...
I have it. I don't know how to express to you my thoughts and feelings. Alexithymia: Difficulty in describing feelings or emotions to other people.
How do I tell you? How to let you know? All my jumbled thoughts collide. Let me try to explain.

"Don't try to wake me up even if the sun really does come out tomorrow." I just don't know how much more I can take. Everyday is the same old gray. It seems like everytime things start to go well for me, I find ways to screw it up. It's like I don't want to be happy. "Don't believe anything you say anymore." I want to. I wish I could. I wish I could believe you when you say things get better, when you tell me things will be alright. When you say I'm good for something, or that I'm worth it. I wish I believed you when you tell me I'm beautiful and that you love me. "It's alarming how loud the silence screams no warning." Do you hear me screaming? Trying to warn you? It's oh so loud. You don't, do you? I try, but it never seems to get through. My screams of silent warnings go unheard, wasted. "Conversate to the sounds, to the sounds of a record player - with it's jumping needle and the lights that grow dim over time." We talk and we listen. We sing and we laugh. But how long will that last? Will the lights inside us grow dim? I'm afraid so. How do we keep them bright? I just don't know... "Are you where you thought you'd be? So beautiful and only twenty-three." I'm not. Not even close. Are you? What makes you think we ever will be? Will we ever get there, individually or together? Time will tell. "Opposition rests in the hearts with no opportunity." There is always that opposition inside of me... It leaves no room for us. The contrast of what is right and what is wrong; what I should do and what I want. It pushes you out, giving us no opportunity to progress. "It's not that we don't talk, it's just no one really listens and honesty fades." It feels empty, meaningless. It has become a routine. I feel like there is a gap. There is something there, separating us. Maybe it's me. My jealousy or my thoughts that carry themselves far away. I worry about the things you don't tell me. I let my mind wander and think of all the worst things. Is it lying if I simply don't tell you? What don't you tell me? I let all these little things get to me... These voices whisper ideas into my head. They consume my mind and control my thoughts. They create this divide. My jumbled mind. I don't know anything anymore. Head this warning.

Thing is...
"With downcast eyes, there's more to living than being alive." Simply stated, beautifully said. Are we living or are we dead? Barely alive, I fear for you. What is the difference between the two? With my eyes cast down, I choose to survive. Ever and always - barely alive.