If home is where the heart is, then what do I do with this empty chest?

My life for the past few years has been a plane ride full of empty promises and made mistakes. The only problem is that I have no idea where this plane lands. 

I've picked up my pieces and had to reassemble them more times than I can count. I tried so hard to peek through the blindfold this time around, but no matter how hard I try, I can never seem to pin the tail on the donkey. 

I can't go see a doctor, because I'm too afraid to even get my oil changed. If it means coming outside of my wall, I tell myself it's better to not do it at all. 

How can a doctor tell me what my problems are when I can't even diagnose myself with a sense of self worth, or a simple ability to tell someone how I feel? Now THAT's why I have this page. Because I'm too afraid to rip the duct tape off my heart, for fear that it might hurt too much. And I'm sorry, miss you-know-who, but lying's all I've learned, and I know you hate when I write about you but I also hate that even if I did tell you in person, I'd not get a response. 

I wish to myself every 12 hours to hear from you, or to at least have someone come along to mend this rift, but every 12 hours it seems someone comes along just to make it wider. 

And I pray more than I've ever prayed in my life to be able to find some rest from this tornado in my head, from this hurricane in my heart, this tsunami in my soul, and I've reached the brink of desperation, and I find it hard not to 

Jump.