the moments when you cry for no reason are the ones that scare you most.
when the only thing you can hear is your heart pounding in your ears and the
only feeling next to the hot liquid falling down your cheeks is the numbness
all over your insides. when the air you breathe becomes toxic and you blink
your eyes but you're still there;
scars, misery, regret, and hurt evident all over your abused body.
you're not sure what part is hurting. you're not aware of what is breaking
inside you, making your gasps of pathetic air louder than the clock
ticking in your parent's room at night. when you look inside yourself
[God you hate doing that] you try to pick through the wires and broken
glass to find what's been making your clock get stuck. but you can't
find anything. all you find is a fear that is slowly finding its way out
of you. and yet that is terrifying on all its own.
it gets harder to hide your cracks when they are trying to get out so
desperately in any way they can. you are angry that your favourite colour
cup is missing - you are livid. you are screaming and throwing everything
across the room looking for such minuscule part of your life. around you,
people look with confusion and fear, but mostly the kind of feeling that they
don't give a sh*t enough to help you find the thing that's breaking you.
you were never a good actress. you always had a stage fright right out of
the horror movies when you were little. and in these times, everything you
buried away when you were little comes flying out of your eyes, mouth, veins.
it's worse now, though. you have to pretend the scar you reopened on your arm
isn't burning. you have to pretend you don't want to make more of them.
and when they tell you you've done something wrong, everything you've ever
done wrong in your life comes back at that moment, and suddenly not sweeping
the corner is as bad as taking enough Benadryl to put yourself into a coma.
when you come home you want to die. you want to disappear somewhere where
no one will find you, somewhere where you can scream and cry and throw things
and nothing will keep you company but the ghosts and skeletons that remind you
what you once were. when you come home, you cry. this is the only place you
really can without blowing your cover. your pretty little act that never could fool
anyone - especially not yourself. your tears are big and messy. they dot your
blanket and make your make up run all over your face so now you closely
resemble the joker. it hurts, the fear. the fear coming out of you burns its way
through your veins, through your throat. and the fear leaving is what you're
most afraid of.
when you cry and beg yourself not to self destruct yourself and you don't even
you realise how much you don't know yourself.
after sixteen years you still can't read your own story.