The pain comes before you even know that you’ll never be able to let go of the thought you just had, the image you drew up,  the scenario you watched play out between insecurity and fear masquerading as the people you love.

But you’ve got yourself convinced that they don’t love you.  Because how could they? 

The past fills the rooms of your mind with ghosts.  You’ve convinced yourself that someone in there is a poltergeist.  And you hate them because they’re sending you to sleep with cuts and bruises and headaches every night.  Even though they never touched you. 

You don’t feel safe.

Because the real danger is you. Pushing away everyone who ever loved you trying to shout away imaginary demons.  Asking questions you know they’ll never get right. And you end up in a fight.  But you’re distracted because there’s a heaviness in your chest.  In your lungs.  And it’s forcing itself out.  And before you know it, whatever was inside you is painting the floors,  and the walls,  and the face of whoever you love.  But it’s not inside of you any more. And you look at their face,  covered thickly with a pain not their own,  and you feel relieved. 

And then you hate yourself. 

Because they look at you like you are wearing someone else’s face.  They don’t know who you are anymore. And you wonder if you’re some sort of monster. 

They look at you and say this has to stop.  This has to end.  And you tell them you’re just trying to save whatever we had.  How can they not want that?

Then you remember who you are and know it was too good to be true all along.  And an emptiness replaces the feelings of excitement and love. And they’re starting to hate you so you scream. 

I told you!
I told you this is what I was!

And you feel helpless.  And all of the ghosts are laughing at you.  And you can feel them dig into your skin with their claws. 

But they are not there. You are in the room alone because the soul leaped out of the person you loved and hid from you to protect themselves and their sanity. 

And you’ll beg them to come back.  And because they love whoever you used to be they might oblige.  But when they hold you when you’re sobbing apologies they will see a bit of your mask peeling off. 

A lot of your ugliness poking through. 

And they won’t say anything.  Because if they do the words will get stuck in your mind and you’ll come out roaring one morning over breakfast.  And they’ll tell you it didn’t have to be this way.  The day didn’t have to start this way. 

And you’ll collapse.  You’ll see that part of their love for you has burnt out.

And you have no one but yourself to blame.


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