Hey all! I'm starting these "Zom Blogs" to share my thoughts and experiences as a zombie! (Meant to post this a while ago)
Some basics on a these "Zom Blogs" are!
These blogs are to document my mental state and my feels towards myself as a person. Zombies don't like rotting.
I'm here to share my mind with everyone here as a zombie to you all, as I am one.
These blogs will touch on disturbing topics and saddening topics to many such as
Suicide/Suicidal thoughts
And more if decided or touched on! But today will be body/identity issues.
This past week has been hard. I don't think many people understand what I mean when I say I'm a zombie. I'm a rotted corpse. I know how I died. I know what I did, but to people looking at me they may not see that. My flesh is necrotic and rotten, but if you were to touch me you'd find soft skin, pimpled slightly, pale, maybe slightly deformed from medical issues. You'd see a face with tired, deep chocolate brown eyes, a smile maybe, with a mouth too wide sometimes. You wouldn't see what I feel. What I am.
You wouldn't see the gaping hole on the right side of my skull. Brain and decay seeping from it whenever I think too hard. You wouldn't see a broken and crooked nose that separates that reality from that truth. A near skeletal frame, tender, festering, bloated at some point but now what seems to be wet plastic burned over wooden sticks from a long burned out campfire. The teeth would stay the same. One oak eye still wet with tears or mucus. Still alive, functional, conscious, like nothing is wrong. Like everything is okay. You know it isn't.
You stare and you'll point out "hey, something is wrong, what happened?" — that doesn't matter anymore. Because it already happened. And yet, I'm still alive. I can still talk, eat, and socialize. But you can sometimes see through the pale skin, dark eye bags, and pimpled face, and see the rot festering, still fresh underneath. And I'm okay with what I am. Most the time that is. Sometimes it disgusts me being amongst the living knowing I'll never truly be like them. Knowing no matter how hard I try, I'll never fit in anywhere. In a graveyard I'm dead but above ground. I can't fit in, no matter how hard I try and shive my brain back into my shattered and broken skull. I'm human but even that is a stretch. When I don't feet my tail between my legs and my paws covering my eyes and ears I feel sick dripping from my mouth and empty with a fullness no one can explain.
I post this not for pity, nor guilt. But for maybe an understanding. Give a voice to those who feel this way but just haven't found the words to say it. I hope to post most like this soon, as it feels nice to finally get this all off my chest. It's been on my mind a lot. Thank you for reading. It means a lot to me.
