Sunday, 23 August 2015

Just talk

I have not written anything for myself in so long that it feels like a stranger coming home to a life he should have known. What with everything going on, I still feel as empty as before. Work cannot take that hunch away from me any longer; call it paranoia if you will. But I feel like I’m going insane inside and nobody sees that. Because I continue to go through the motions and live like nothing ever changed, because I still smile on cue and try to say the things I should be saying, therefore I seem ok.

I am not ok. 

I am not ok because I feel like I’m living someone else’s life and that I’m just in everyone’s way. That pesky little thing left on everyone’s to-do list. That nuisance. 

I am not ok because no matter how much I try to live in the present, I will always compare what I have now to what I had back then. Don’t believe the lies when people tell you they will treat you like the princess you are. You’re no princess. You don’t have what it takes, none of all that beauty and shit. All you have is that bitter heart and that constantly self-deprecating mind. And they’re no white knight in shining armour either. Romance is an illusion that drugs you. A poppy full of opium, all prettily decked out in colours of blood and pain. Don’t you come crashing down after that high? I do. I crash when I realize that people are not as they seem. I’ve been there so many many times and yet I am still like this, na├»ve and hopeful. Romance is a lie. Friendship is a lie. If it’s all smiles and sunshine, I must’ve probably died and gone to heaven. 

To feel so much and not be able to talk is killing me. The anxiety of never being enough, of not doing well enough is killing me. I cannot keep fighting the tears, but I cannot keep boring the people around me with them. I feel so fragile. One more break and I’ll just go so far crazy I might never come back. I’m so tired. Can I please not feel anything anymore? I can’t keep up the act. I’ve never been good at acting. So I’ve gone over to hiding. 

As I’m typing this I’m crying quietly just a screen away from you. Just a few inches away. And you will never know a thing until it’s over and I’ve destroyed myself again ten times over from the inside. Can you hear the bits of me disintegrating? Don’t worry. I’ll build myself back up into that person that you want by the time the world awakens. And they wonder why I have so many masks. 

Every time I call out for help,to try and tell someone how this storm inside feels today and the only voice I hear is my own, I die a little more inside. I'm not sure anyone really sees me anymore.  I think they just see what they want, when they want it and I'm just this tiny part of a bigger plan they have for life. A tiny, insignificant part.

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