Warning: unhappy character sketch, lack of editing warning.
Yesterday you saw the broken side of me, the parts I try to pretend don’t exist in someone like me. What a joke. I pretend that I can glue the pieces together, and no one will notice, but you ever tried gluing the intangible together with shaking hands? Not what I’d call easy to manage.
There are voices in my head that never came from me. They whisper, and they mock, and sooner or later it’s impossible to stop them worming their way out into the world. And then… well, you saw it. You saw the tears and the frustration. You saw the thing that I turn into when I can’t take anymore.
And the worst part- worse than the crying and the forgetting how to breathe- is the feeling that you didn’t really care- that no one really does. That’s the part that hurts. That whenever anyone I love is hurting, I’m there. I work my ass off to keep everyone afloat when they’re drowning. And on my bad days, there’s no one around. And if someone I love does happen upon me, you’d think I’d just slapped their grandmother. You’d think there was nothing in the world worse than me stopping being the world’s den-mother for twenty minutes. I’m being dramatic, unreasonable, unfair- there’s always a reason why I’m not allowed to feel the stab wounds, always a reason why I need to shut up and get back to work looking after them. They’re never good reasons, never the sort that hold up when you look at them under the light of the real world, but people like us don’t tend to deal in reality, do we?
You ask me to trust, to take that leap of faith. We’re both trying way too hard to ignore the bad shit below that leap of faith. You’re ignoring it because the second you admit it’s there it becomes unfair to ask another living being to risk it on your behalf. But me? I’m ignoring it the way you ignore the ex you’ve spent a lifetime around, and are only just getting used to being distant from.
I don’t wanna see the ground rushing up to meet me again.