When it comes down to this. I do have someone to talk to. I do have someone to confide to. The thing is, I refuse to open myself up to those who care. I don’t want them to see how vulnerable I am. You see now, they see me as the stronger one who’s able to brush off things that would make most people implode. But I don’t really brush it off. I just suck it in and let it linger in my mind as I replay the words and actions in my mind over and over again like a bad movie on Lifetime. The thoughts build up, and the emotions begin to run wild. Everything becomes chaos, and suddenly the riot escapes. And that’s when the reckless, garrulous, thoughts begin to break loose. Every word, every phrase, every sentence, that slips my lips barely holds any truth–if any, for that matter. My words bleed of desperation and desire. The desire to make things right again, and the cries for help.
So I turn to my only get away. Writing is the only way I can release myself without hindering my thoughts. Why? Simply because the mass majority of people reading this don’t know me too well, if at all. There’s less room for judgement, and more room for a virtual connection. I don’t know what it is. I guess is easier to speak vicariously through the internet than it is to an actual person.
But there is only one person that I want to talk to right now and he won’t even speak to me. And half the things I want to say, I can’t say, for fear of abandonment and misunderstandings. I don’t know how to handle it. All I can do is lay here and think about everything that went wrong. Everything I said wrong. Everything I did wrong. Everything I said but honestly didn’t mean. I can apologize a million times, weep in sorrow, and cry in vain, but none will be heard. Every word and every action will be left ignored. Because I’m here in my room alone. If only he knew.
