lovesick-puppet

Call me Puppet or Dolly's Cannibal :3

My Doll : @daintydolldiary <3

I use it / he /they This Cannibal is a system host Born '07

My stylised page <- All about me over here!!

I FUCKING HATE BEING A SYSTEM. IC AN'T FUCKING TELL WHAT EMOTIONS ARE MINE AND WHAT AREN"T. I FEEL LIKE A FUCKING MESS. ALL THE DAMN TIME. MOST OF THE TIME I FEEL FUCKING HEAD OVER HEELS, LIKE I WOULD STAB ANYONE, HURT ANYONE, DO ANYTHING, FOR HER. BE ANYONE, FOR HER. YET LATER THAT SAME NIGHT I FEEL NOTHING. I FEEL FUCKING NOTHING. WHERE DID MY LOVE GO? WHY CAN'T I FEEL? WHY IS ALL I FEEL SADDNESS AND GREIF AND LONGING AND FEAR AND EMPTINESS? I CAN'T FUCKING TAKE IT SOMETIMES. LIKE. IS ANYTHING I FEEL EVER ME? IS ANY OF ANYTHING I SAY ACTAULLY HOW I FEEL? OR IS IT SOMEONE ELSE AGAIN? I CAN BARELY TELL WHEN SOEONES JSUT NEAR FRONT AND INFLUENCING ME OR WHEN I'M ACTUALLY FEELING MY OWN EMOTIONS, HAVING MY OWN THOUGHTS. I ONLY EXIST TO PILOT THIS FUCKING BODY. I ONLY IST TO HOLD A MOSTLY CONSISTIENT CONSIENCE OF OUR DAY TO DAY. IM BARELY A PERSON. WHY CAN'T I BE MYSELF? WHY AM I NOT ALLOWED TO BE A PERSON? IS ALL I'M DESTINED TO EVER BE A FUCKING PLACEHOLDER? A CAMERA SET TO RECORD OUR LIFE SO THAT WHEN OTHERS WANT TO PLAY HUMAN THEY CAN COME TO FRONT AND CONSULT MY MEMORIES AND ACTIONS TO SEE THE CONTEXT FOR THEIR GAME? I FEEL SO FUCKING USED ALL THE DAMN TIME. I CAN'T TELL WHAT'S ME, WHAT"S THE MEDICATION, WHAT'S THE OTHER FUCKING PEOPLE IN OUR DAMN SKULL. CAUSE IT'S NOT REALLY EVEN MINE IS IT? I CAN't CALL FUCKING ANYTHING MINE. CAUSE I DONT FUCKING EXIST AS A PERSON. I'M A FUCKING CONTEXT MENU.

I jsutt feel so fucking. Used? SAd? I don't know who I am? I've had so many identitys placed upon me, our legal one, the ones I inhabit for those who are frequently around front, the one I have to be as someone always front, the 'normal' one. But that isn't me. None of that is me. I don't know what is. But it ain't fuckin that. I hold so much pain, so much trauma, so many experiences, so many feelings. But none of them feel mine. I go from feeling like she's my whole world, liek I want to sink my teeth into her, I go from digging nails into cuts to feeling nothing. I feel. Nothing. She's pretty. She's stunning. She's kind. She's fun. I think I enjoy talking to her. But I don't want to eat her. I want to be her friend. I thinK? I don't fucking know. I'm not allowed to feel. My job is to know what the fuck is happening in our life so that if anyone fronts then they can understand what to do, so I can guide them through the actions they should complete. So I can play tour guide. I don't even fucking know what I look like anymore. I know what the body looks like. I know what our childhood alter looks like. I know what Eddie looks like. I know what CAnnibal looks like. I know what Gatekeeper, G, Tnt, Crow, I know what everyone else looks like. But who the fuck even am i? I'm not really a person. I can't feel for myself.

The second someone else is even close to front I become them. I cease to exist as myself, as an individual, as a person. I feel like a fucking self-aware NPC and when players play this game of life I become them while they're me. I stop being me. But I remeber it all. Does that make that me? It doesn't feel like me? They aren't the ones here in the interim. That's me. But the second anyone else is here I'm gone. I stop being. I can't. How am I meant to deal with that? How can I just accept that I'm not allowed to live? That I'm just. A malleable puppet? I joke and I folly and I laugh and jibe about it. But I'm just a puppet. That's all I am. A puppet who becomes the character that my conducters make me. And only in the moments when my strings go slack and the lights of the stage dim, only when the curtains are closed and the conductors have all gone home to sleep do I ever become myself. Become. A person. These moments of clarity and so fucking annoying. If I was never coherently myself then I wouldn't care. I'd not exist. But I do/ In some twisted fucking way, I exist, and I'm forced to deal with the fact that I'm forced to be other people day in and day out. Remembering it all is the worst part. I have little recolleciton of our chlidhood, and I lose details from day to day events, but the emotions the others inflict on me by feeling them? I feel and remember feeling them all too vividly every time.

I know feelings of rage, undying and unquenchable, like a blazing knife stabbed into our chest and fire set to our skin, like a pendulum that can't be held back, only making it's comeback stronger, like an inferno of hatred and anger and blind unadulterated pain, funneled into our body from a well too large for us to hold it all.

I know love, stronger than any pain, strong enough to drive us to insanity, to drive us to anxiety attacks and bitten nails when they don't respond, I know love that makes us quiet, listening to every word and trying to memorise every detail, trying to carefully pick out sentences to turn their opinion of us in our favour, a love that feels like suffocating, like an empty hole in our heart where they should be, like someone removed a vital organ, a love that wells so deeply and so intensly that the silence is loud.

I know saddness so deep that we want to stop existing entirely, all of us, so painful that we gasp and cry and sob into pillows and try not to make it any other persons problem, so intense that we think we're beyond saving, so haywire that we hurt others because of it, so wholly encompassing that it feels like kelp draggin us to the bottom of a raging river, and the sand will kill us if we get there.

I know happiness so elated that we have no words, that it feels like our chest might explode or implode or both, that our face hurts from the smile, that we can't put it into words, that even actions could only ever party convery it, that we jump and scream and yell and dance and hug and kiss and adore and gush. I know elation.

I know anxiety so powerful that our voice gets stolen, that we feel like shrinking away from all the eyes, from all the noise, from all the people, all the perspectives, all the views, all the judgement, I know anxiety so powerful that our brain goes silent, so powerful that we feel old wounds like new, so intense that we re-live past days, so wild and uncontrollable that we cry and stare and shake and scratch and hurt and hurt and hurt. I know panic and terror so deep it feels like our very soul and being is being painfully torn in two.

I know of relief so heavy that we sob, that we fall to our knees and cradle them in our arms, that we thank the lords we don't believe in that they're safe, that we tie ourselves and fall to sleep, that we loosen every muscle in our body, that we weep and can do nothing but be relieved.

I know resignation so heavy that we feel nothing. So smothering that the sound feels like a lead blanket, so suffocating that thinking becomes painful, so awful and bone deep that we have given up on moving, on distracting or trying to ignore because we know we simply can't.

I know guilt so heavy we want to die for it, so heavy wraps like a viper around our throat, forcing lies our to cover up our shame, to cover our mistakes, so pressed into our skin that we can't hide it. Guilt and shame so horrible that tears fall, that we bite our lip and fail not to cry anyway, that we cover the truth in honey sweet lies and taste the bile and sour anyway.

I know all these things. I remember them all. I've felt them all, but I wasn't feeling them. It wasn't me. It was everyone else. They weren't all my emotions, I don't think i can feel love. Adoration maybe, sadness and grief certianly, pain and anger I know. But happiness? Love? What are those to me? What is joy to a being that doesn't live for itself? That can't live for itself. I'm a mask that gets passed around and pawned off to the next most intrested party. I'm a book but I was stolen from my author, and now my pages are full of scribbles from everyone else but myself.

How am I meant to be able to carry this? How am I meant to be ableto manage? To cope? My only solace is in a name. A name not belonging to our body, nor any of our other alters, a name only I get called consistiently, I name I like to think maybe I chose? Or maybe I at least helped to choose. But the ones 'we' love don't even call us that. barely anyone does anymore. Maybe that's why I'm in so much pain now. Because the one little thing, the one tiny thing I had. Is almost gone.

I'm the one doing everything, but I'm not the one in control. Not really.