Tuesday, May 24, 2011


   Have you ever noticed how the weight of all the things you’ve never said can fill up the space between you and another? Whenever you’re around them, you can feel yourself suffocating on the unspoken? Drowning in all the things you’ve been holding back for so long? When it gets to that point it almost doesn’t feel worth it to talk about it or you just want to lash out and say everything you’ve been holding back. Make them understand how you feel. Years will have gone by and I’ve held it in. I can feel myself start to break, weaken a bit, tearing at the seams, until I can’t take it anymore. I act out..another tattoo, another piercing, all to look “tougher” on the outside, so no one could hurt me on the inside. Is that me? Yes, that’s me too.

When I get to that point, there is no right decision. Because, the truth is, I never should’ve let it get there in the first place. I should have told them, “this makes me sad, that’s hurtful”. Instead, I kept my mouth shut (a rare feat for me anyway) and choked on it. Every time I held my tongue and kept my feelings to myself, I gave them exactly what they wanted. That it was ok to hurt me, because they can, they were intimidated, or simply just scared. I was losing myself by staying. Losing myself by putting up with it. “Why would anyone do that?” I ask myself. That’s something I’ve never understood. I’ve never understood why people hurt others, just because. 

So when I get to this point, I’ve decided to try to be honest, not live in my head, and not keep it to myself. I can’t be compatible with everyone and once I realize that it won’t hurt me to be honest and say how I feel or walk away if they become insulting. I shouldn’t have to…NO ONE should have to deal with that, it’s hurtful. I’ve thought so many times about what I’d say if it happened again, how angry I’d get, how I would ask; “Why are you doing this?” The weight of 8 years worth of words would be more than you could handle and I‘m reaching my breaking point.

I broke years ago. I walked into his house, with low, drawn out anger and obvious hurt. Telling him all the things I wanted to tell him for 2 years. How stupid and hurtful it was to walk away, with no explanation. I lashed out. Said hurtful things. He admitted it was difficult for him; he was afraid. Afraid to hurt, afraid to get too involved, afraid I’d leave, afraid I’d get sick again, afraid he couldn’t help me, afraid he couldn’t handle it. That helped me, gave me an answer, an explanation and I was ok with that. Sometimes there is no such thing as closure, and I need to accept that.
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