Having a disorder, or mental illness, or blood behind your eyes and sounds of screams running through your rocket speed tears, whispers in your sleep with guns inside your head with bullets bouncing from the walls of the inner side back and forth up and down all around, is one thing.
Telling someone about it is another.
To your loved ones the hardest. Leaving you with mixed feelings. Between the relief of letting it out and having to maybe say goodbye to a part of you. Between the sympathy and agony in seeing their face drop as they wonder where they did wrong, looking back at all the times they took what they saw lightly, or never had guess even a clue of what was happening and satisfaction of leaving them standing corrected for all the times they accused you of doing it on purpose just to flip them off. Between taking the risk of being told you have lost your mind once again, that this is you and your made up problem, that you are pretending for attention and actually getting the empathy you deserve following by the slight chance of recovery. Between getting better and never going back and getting better with your fate in the future beholds a big sign stating "relapse" at one point. They say if you never try you'll die wondering but is the risk worth the ending?
At one point everyone gives up and you would too if you were handed such a task but sometimes it isn't for us to decide, this kind of mistake that has no u-turn, the kind that has an impact on your life that lasts. Not being able to do anything about it but to grow with it or out of it with help or on your own. For people to worry and for me to end making them feel unworthy or useless by what I have been doing or has been happening to myself, is too much to swallow. Having them to take so much time of their day to check up on you, just so you wouldn't do anything beyond their comprehension. All these while you have lied to them after they trusted you, just to save them from you to end being the one who killed their hopes and form of thinking and beliefs. How could it not get worst, than to self loathe for the one thing you thought you did right just because you were doing it for everyone else? Sometimes the hardest things to say or do are the ones worth it, they say.
What more to be timid of? Maybe, the thought of acknowledging the fact that they can't comprehend the things you explain to them or find the logic in what you've been doing, to be such a burden once again the way you always had and money money money you're using up all of it leave some for us!! and stop. Stop the voices in your head. Anxious over made up thoughts. Though it's true. Day 1 they check up on you, oh please please I hope you're okay. Day 2 they check up on you, god I can't lose you stay with us. Day 3 they check up on you, I hope you're doing okay I love you. Day 4, day 5, day what? What day? What who? Who what? Who knows? No one does.
That is how people care, the kind of care you're afraid of. As days pass by, their affection and attention and love causes so much positivity on you to one point when they assume how you're okay now, that you are good. That they can leave it be & treat you the way they did as you fall back to the same old pattern and it saddens you, the disheartening thought and feel of how you are only significant or seem so when you are on the edge or have the highest possibility of losing your life and others losing you, only then they reach out to you. Above all the only thing you're scared of is finding out that it doesn't matter, the way it does to you, the way everyone is to you because this too shall pass although to you it won't, to them it will always.
So we, and I, we sit still,
contemplating, going back and forth,
staggering to the same spot we start,
and we struggle
we struggle
we struggle.
-riri-
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