I have no one to tell when life is falling apart faster than I can glue it back together.
I sit alone in a room with other people and quietly feel that dying would be a better thing than what I'm forced to feel.
I smile and talk and eat and drink and slowly die inside.
And wish that there was someone who would know, who I could call, who would come to me, and hold me until the coldness went away again.
Alone is awful, is it not?
And finding someone who will love you can be worse, for then you must fear losing them...fear the things you say...want so much for them to love you that you'd sacrifice your truth to win their love.
And yet you can't. No matter what the need, the truth was much too hard to find. You'll cling to truth.
But if they go. What if they go? I can't be alone again. Not here. Not inside this place of ice and snow. I must have warmth...a human warmth...a loving warmth.
I'll die of cold now that I've been coaxed out into the world again.
Why do I have to say the things....share the things...let them know the soul I am. Will I never understand that to share your truth is to risk again the agony of betrayal....the agony of rejection....the agony of loneliness more desperate now because the warmth of friendship has been known?
I hate the fear. I hate thinking that no one could love the person I am...the person God created me to be. I hate never being able to relax in who I am.
Rest now, my soul. Lie down here in the cold and nothingness and rest. Exhaustion is your friend, for if exhausted there can be no more thoughts of fear or loss, or death and how much better that would feel than the pain of what you feel....of feeling you should not have ever come into this world to cause such trouble for all those who had to deal with you.
Love is all you ask. Love is all you wanted. His love. And now you try to fill the hole with love from men so kind and caring....so kind and caring that you fear that they would hate you if they knew who you were....the way that he did.
Sleep, my soul. Tomorrow you will wake and all of this will be gone. You'll be embarrassed that you wrote it down...afraid that you will be shunned now because you did. And it will start again, this quest for love, wrapped tightly in self-loathing.
I love myself, I really do, at times. But when he would not love me, or hold me. When instead he did the things he did....said the things he said....
I'll get over them. I say that, so you won't dislike me for being such a pansy. You see, I want you to like me for being strong and getting better.
And life begins to swirl once more, and I begin to run from wall to wall, crashing awkwardly here and there, searching for an answer, searching to find out who I might be, where I might go, whom I might love....who might love me.
Shut up, my soul. You speak too much. You show too much your weakness. They will all know and will look at you with much disdain....much disapproval, the strong among them...those who have got on with their lives.
And emptiness surrounds me like a soft white tomb, and I lie down in emptiness, and hope not for a gentle touch, but sleep alone 'till morning.
I'm healing now, and I wasn't sure I would.