The majority of the time individuals will only acknowledge your surface. “You seem tired.” “Must’ve had a long night.” When the reality of my world is that I’m screaming inside. Forcing smile after smile, until I just don’t have the will to pretend that I much rather be in an eternal sleep than to be awake dealing with this hell. Fighting back the tears. Unstoppable tears. Struggling to keep my cool. Pondering numerous of times what it would be like to see the other side. Even when you VERBALLY tell someone that you’re one step away from catapulting off the ledge, they merely say something to the effect that things will get better or you’re not the only person facing struggle. I’m not fucking talking about every other person. I’m talking about ME. That’s why I called it quits with a lot of people. I realized at the end of the day you have to take matters into your own hands; you have to seek your own help in whatever manifestations you deem fit. That’s why I need to go back to not telling people if anything is wrong and if they ask why I seem/appear down, I’ll simply have to think of anything other than how I ACTUALLY feel. The reality, I often fail to warp in order to cope. The rather ironic thing is I try to bend the darkness in positive ways. Foolish of me to actually think I could escape or exist in a world were things go right, individuals actually know the definition of reciprocity, and one doesn’t have to deplete themselves in order to better themselves. This prison, metaphorically microscopic but certainly does not mean there are no consequences. Every other day wishing you’d finally fade but fail to bring the barrel to your temple because a small slither of you still believes that you can win. You’re a conqueror, or you were. You defeated yourself playing the fictional Super Man in a strictly homo sapien ruled realm. Putting everyone’s happiness before your own. Overexerting yourself because you have no support. Exhausting all of your safety nets, left raw and most vulnerable. Too toxic even to yourself that you reach the verge of self-destruction. So you, I, pushed practically everything and everyone away and quarantined ourselves, myself. Isolating myself because no one really fucking cares about my fucking problems. Fair enough, they are my problems. I can’t disagree with that, but I reserve the right to try to rectify aforementioned non-descriptive problems BY MYSELF. I don’t give a fuck if you don’t like it. I don’t give a fuck if we never talk again. Because if IT, if I, meant anything there would be no reason why I can’t totally, unapologetically tell someone, anyone, especially someone I love, that I am slipping so close to a dark space that I feel loss of control is not only imminent but in extreme close proximity. I shouldn’t have to isolate myself because I no longer feel a safe space is promised with someone I have a strong desire to be with. It’s practically pointless for dynamics to continue to falsely exist on a now destroyed pretense. But it happened. Shit happens. I’ll probably survive like the many other times things have fallen apart and I, by force or choice, have to isolate myself in order to heal; in order to be a better individual, worthy of love, and capable of giving love. After all, no one really gives a fuck about your problems so it’s essential that I start to, even if that means doing it solo.
- Alex N. Wanderland