I came to lose... I don't want to lose

I want a holocaust cloak. I would wear it. For real for real.
I think about this too much. I know it but I don't stop it. We talk about it, sometimes seriously, sometimes jokingly, but never really. And I have realized that there's only a very few people in this world I trust completely, perhaps foolishly. I like being with those people, when I'm real without trying. Maybe foolish trusting should be more common, maybe it would make us better people. It would make us more transparent, more easily able to get hurt. I have also realized that I am still self-destructive, only in a more subtle way than before. I still have the scars to prove it. I don't know what's wrong with me, to know things and not do them. I need to know. I wonder what other people think, those that know me and those that do not, when I speak so freely of my scars. I wonder what they'll think when they'll figure out the rest. I wonder how many of them will leave and if the ones I foolishly trust will still be there to hang on to, or should I hang on at all? When it's not wrong but it's not right, what do I do?
Some days I wish I was capable of regretting. Maybe then I would be capable of forgetting.