A Ghost with a Crusted Heart

I know that for the few who of you read my blog these words have gotten old, but when a soul is overwhelmed, it can only sing one song. The words and feelings have grown old to me, but every moment that I think the scars healed they burst open again into gushing, seeping wounds...the kind of wounds that everyone tries to ignore and forget. But they are still so real to me. So real that it seems surreal, as if I am the one who is a dream. As if everything around me is not quite real; I can touch it but that doesn't mean that it will last. Every feeling fades so fast and all that remains is a dull numbness that won't go away no matter what I do and no matter what I say. I have become a ghost with a crusted heart. I have had so many hopes and so many dreams; so many plans that have crumbled at my feet. So many things that I wish to be, so many things I want...and yet when my mind snaps back to reality what do I have but a crusted heart. Reality is so painful, and every day I hate it more. I feel that hate crusting my seeping heart more and more, and yet all it does is grow. A teacher once told me that "bitterness is the only poison that destroys its own container"...and I feel it slowly killing me, eating at my bones and my soul, but it hurts so much to have everything you loved and hoped for stripped away until all that is left of you is a naked body at the mercy of a harsh winter wind. My little crusted heart seeps and cries and tries to heal itself, and then it grows hard, but when it struggles to beat it breaks open its own wounds again. It's an ugly cycle that never seems to end. And who wants to care for a heart with so many cares...who wants to nurture a heart that can only struggle to beat one more pulse? I feel so selfish, as if all that I want is only for me...as if the things that I love and I want are wrong. I know it's not true, and I know I shouldn't feel this way...but it still eats me. I long and I long and I long for love and yet I am so afraid to love. Every eye seems to have that evil gleam, and I feel like a wounded bird in the sights of a vulture. I want to hide away...oh dear God, I don't know what to do.