I made a mess too deep. The madness swirling inside refuses to clean it up. Stays to mess it up more with the rapid cycling coming through like a bulldozer, ripping up my spine, trying to strangle my heart like it always does. I have perfected the mess but never the clean up. Always someone walking behind me, picking up the pieces I drop. Covering my back and sometimes my eyes so I am spared the sight of the way my own heart breaks. It makes me cry. No one likes to see the tears. They are thick with guilt from eyes of others. Hard to look at, because looking means Acknowledging which translates to accepting blame for taking me into this spin that never stopped, or maybe the apology I never got. That’s hard to do for some. So they shield me as if that saves me, without making eye contact. Say I love you without touching. Paying the bills sometimes equals love. Sitting in this mess of me is free. So who am I to complain about this madness or anything for that matter? Keep it to myself. Stay out of the way. Don’t rub the fingers of my burden against anyone else.
Cooperate. Stop making everything hard. You have it all… Easy street comes to you. Why are you always crying? Suck it up. Dry it up. I love you. Baby steps.. You are trying to do everything at once, just focus on one thing at a time. Stay positive. I don’t know how to help you because you won’t talk to me. I don’t have time for this shit right now. Nothing makes you happy. I have to go. I’ll be home at normal time. Maybe I’ll pick up dinner. Will you eat if I do? Love you.
Those words always sting me. Feels like I am sitting alone looking out a window with a view that no one else sees but me. A front row seat to the inside of my mind and it never fucking stops. I don’t know what it looks like from the outside, when someone looks in. It must be ugly. It must be scary or maybe it looks crazy. I don’t need to see it, because I feel it and it feels like a window I never want to look in. A door I would never open if I had a choice. I guess I would look away too if I could. I would actually run away if I could. But forget how it looks from the outside, looking in with eyes that never had to feel this. If you felt it, you would understand why I do the things I do, why I shut down this way, why I can’t see the bright side all the time. You would know the reasons behind the quick temper, the mood that never stops swinging. You would get out of the way and stop being in the line of fire. Maybe you would leave me be. Maybe you would never call me weak again once you put on these shoes for a day or two. You may see that I can’t take baby steps or just tackle one thing at a time. I wish I could. But there’s a hundred things coming at me all at once and I need to cover all of them or none of them. And I didn’t need this other shit popping up now. It’s always the wrong time. Making me want to give up. I can’t help it when I cry. That’s why I don’t want to talk about it. But you ask and the tears roll out with no words. Maybe another day. I just can’t right now. Don’t touch me. You can’t fix everything. You should know that by now. I don’t know why you are still here or why you stayed so long. You haven’t known anyone but me, but there’s better people out there who have their shit together like I never will. Just go. This is never getting better. And every day, you’re still here. I don’t get it. I guess I never will.