11/22

I’m sorry, I don’t mean to lie, I don’t mean these deflections believe me. When I say these things it’s only because I believe them, I wouldn’t say them otherwise. It’s not fair that these convictions continue to ripple out, they affect more than just me, it’s friends, family, loved ones, who now have to watch from the sidelines as I tear myself apart. 

I don’t want to hurt them too, that was never part of the deal, the deal is that they don’t get hurt. There’s only so many times I can create a new reality, painting my own dots and connecting them with my own string, there’s only so many times I can do that until there’s nothing left.

It’s like I exist in two worlds, one is constantly collapsing and reconstituting itself, new rules and religions I suddenly bind myself to. And an external reality that exists independent of my thoughts and mind. But then, the two overlap so often, the former is based on memories and it begins to lay itself on top of my vision. I can’t differentiate the world of memory from what’s in front of me, everything is smoke and mirrors, I trick myself.

I don’t realise the gravity of my words when I tell you because I’ve lost my bearing. I think I’m being earnest, but I’m fetishizing my own vulnerability, telling myself that this rock bottom is where the true self lies. 

The truth feels impossible, and I search for the absolute reason behind my hurt. I become sick, my skin detaching, my nails digging, I can’t stop it once it starts, I can only wait for it to run its course. For the cycle of regurgitation and shedding to end, so I can be comfortable again, forget it ever happened, forget I ever told you. It can be a month, it can be a year, I become trapped by compulsions and circles, waiting within myself.