A million words and my mouth can’t form any. A million thoughts and they remain unspoken, locked away in my mind without ever being released into the world. I can try to let them escape, to release them so that they can run to you but my body shakes in resistance. As I reach for the locks guarding these thoughts all of the words dissipate. With no words to sew together, I have nothing to give you. You ask me to tell you, to share myself with you, but my body will not physically let me. I will try to stabilize my voice for you, but even then, there is nothing to cross my lips into the air. Sometimes i wonder if we are all allotted a certain amount of words and I have run out because someone else is using mine. I want to give you my words but someone has already stolen them. I wish to share all of me with you. I want to give you all of the darkest and brightest corners of my soul, but my chest has a padlock that not even I have a key to. Please don’t mistake my silence as me not caring or not having anything to say. There is so much I could say but nothing that I understand enough to help you understand. Sometimes I believe I am not thinking anything or that my mind is moving too slow to string together words, but I think it is moving far to fast for the rest of me to keep up and I can’t even manage to reach and grab a few words to make a sentence. The whole world is rushing by and I can’t manage to make any sense of what I am seeing. Sometimes you manage to slow it all down for me. To make all the world disappear, but even then, I am so overwhelmed by what is happening in front of me. You want more from me than I can give you. Maybe one day I will be able to give you what you so desperately want, but until then, I am sorry.
Have you ever held something in your life so important that you could never think about losing it? Something that feels so perfect that you could never imagine it breaking? Me too. It built me. It carried me when I couldn’t walk. I held it closer to my heart than any part of my own self, but now I can barely hold it in my hands without it crumbling to pieces. I think I might have held it too tightly. I didn’t mean to, but it is turning to dust. Or is that ashes? Did it burn? Am I the one that burned it. I tried. I tried really hard to take good care of it, but it has turned into something not even I recognize. Something I held so dear has turned into something so toxic for me. The soot from the fire is clouding my eyes and I can no longer see the destruction it is causing in my life. It is burning my lungs and is coating the walls in darkness. I think it is trying to destroy me. This thing that I loved so dearly is becoming my most painful memory, but I cannot let it go. My arms are chained to its foundation. Detaching yourself from emotions, they say, is bad for you, but if I am about to be demolished I do not want to feel anything for this thing that caused it. I do not want any love left for this thing that has torn my soul to pieces. I loved it. I didn’t leave it on a shelf. I carried it in my pocket and showed everyone how beautiful it was. I was so proud of it and now everyone will watch it ruin me. It is turning me inside out and allowing the world to see the most vulnerable parts of me before consuming them into the darkness of its grasp. There is no leaving and there is no going back. I am learning that love can only be toxic. There is no version of love, for me, that is not there to destroy. I give my whole self to love and when it succumbs to the darkness there is nothing left for me. Nothing left in this lifeless human shell. I willingly gave myself to it and I must suffer the consequences.
All I wanted was to be wanted. To feel like I was important to someone. And I still do, but I am comfortable with myself to not need someone’s attention to function. I was wallowing in my self-pity and I thought the only way to not be lonely was for people to pay attention to me, and trust me, I have manipulated myself to be able to get exactly that, but I am finally pulling myself out of that dark hole of despair. The best part is that as soon as I can finally do that for myself, someone decides to prohibit my progression. I wanted you to need me and you didn’t, but as soon as I can move on, you say you need me. If your goal wasn’t to drag me right back into that wretched confinement you are doing a horrendous job of showing it. It feels like every time I am ready to walk away you pull me back and I am forced to start from the beginning all over again. I am exhausted with your endless games and I would just like to take a rest. Stop using me then throwing me away. I know after this you are going to push me back to the side like you always have and I am going to wait there patiently until I am just ready to fix myself. Which will be conveniently right before you “need” me again. I am so over being used. Like I said before, I will not stress my life to be a crutch for yours.
I feel sick. The last time I felt like this it ended worse than I could ever have imagined. Last time I felt this sick I was left with a scar on my wrist that looks like a line terminating my existence. But, yet again, here I am. Nine years. Nine years between us and somehow we have managed to make this out of our lives. Two days and you make me think about every waking moment of my existence and question every choice I have ever made. Is this my fault? My stomach feels like it is consuming itself and someone’s hand is reaching down my throat to stop it. I am alone in this and I do not know how I got here. You are kind. You are sweet. But even the day I become legal I am the same person that I am just the day before. One day does not change me. So why is it then and only then that we can be? I do not think this can work but for some reason, I cannot say no. This is my fault. I got myself into the situation. You do not make me sick. I make me sick. I am repulsed by the thought that I can be so ignorant and so willing. Though you are okay with this I am not. But I will not tell you that because I am weak. I will continue and wait until I become so sick of the thoughts going through my head and you decide that whatever this is cannot work. It is always me. I will always get myself into this. I am my own problem. I am my own worst fear. I am sorry just as sorry as I will be when we end this. I am sick and I do not know if I can live with it.