I am not upset, but I'm asked all the same and in doing so I become what it was I was not. I feel the frustration build and bubble under my insecurities and dashed hopes of dreams, I see all of my worries and fears coalesce into the amalgamated horror of everything I wished would just leave me be, that it would let me, just for once, be, quite simply, 'me'.
You don't inquire out of spite, or to incite the unbridled emotion I carry within me, no, you just wanted to understand what it was that made me act the way that I acted. You want to have a semblance of understanding for why I get like I do, why I seem so tense; you just want to be the helping hand in the dark.
I don't want the helping hand. I don't want to need help. What I want is to be 'normal', is to be able to get through the day without setting off alarm bells, without stirring the hornet nest of worry and concern that you hold within, surrounded by all the good intentions and positive thoughts that any one person could muster.
I appreciate the sentiment. I hate the end result.
If there's one thing I have learned, in my admittedly short stint of breathing air, it's that there is no black and white, only grey. That grey seems to be hounding me, reminding me that it's not as simple, not as straightforward, as they say it is.
So this is one thing I want to be simple, one thing that I want to be straightforward.
Please, just understand, I don't understand. I don't see that I'm rude, that I'm coming across as angry. I don't sense the tone of voice, I can't hear it back until it's too late, the words are already out there and you've decided what it was I meant, even if I simply did not mean that.
To be plain, I don't think that I think like you, and I don't think it's something I can learn to do.
I find you distasteful to look at, and cannot bear the sound of your voice. I would never have elected to be here had I even been given a choice, a choice of where I would like to be, of who I would like to have been with.
You disgust me.
I know every little secret, every filthy lie you have told, and I am not above sharing it, telling everyone you have known. What made you think they would go away? How did you expect to be normal?
You fill me with outrage.
There is nothing you could ever say, nothing that could convince me that you, you the pathetic, simpering fool, are worth more than the dirt on my shoe. Stop lying to yourself, like you do, and accept that you don't belong here.
I pity you.
Do you think that you can prove me wrong? I don't think so, and neither do you. If you did, then you would be out there, keeping a hold on what you can lose. But you're not, you're just in here with me, and I'm everything you deserve.
A prayer for relief; burying my face in my hands. No use. The pressure is there, just behind my eyes and I feel the swell that I cannot stem, it's all mine.
Release is not an option and I resist emotion's plans. No use. I am overwhelmed and I reveal all my shame, my fear and lonely self-pity. It's all mine.
I refute the evidence before me, disbelieve the truth. No use. Denial is awash with rage but cannot fight and is quelled through overbearing might. I call it mine.
I mutter and mumble my pleas to stop. No use, no use at all. It stays with me, an unwanted guest in the vacant residence of my heart, that which is mine.
disappointed
tired