Conceal it, don’t feel it. Don’t let it show. Don’t let them know.
These things I feel… they don’t matter. But I feel them anyway even though they mean nothing. Nobody really wants to know what lies beyond the surface of my skin. Perhaps I tell myself this to save everyone else from getting pulled into all I am. It’s not worth it.
Here I am, 30 years old. And yet… I still feel the same things I felt when I was so much younger. I’m beginning to think these feelings will never go away.
I lock me inside this prison I’ve built for myself. I lost the key, and nobody else can seem to find it either. Sometimes I’m skinny enough to fit between the bars and I can escape, but there’s a pull inside this prison. It yanks me back in before I get too far… I’m unable to get too far out to let someone know I need them and want their help.
I can’t ask for help, because I’m afraid I won’t stop asking for it once I do.
It’s so much better to fend this darkness off myself. That way I don’t bother anybody, I don’t bring them down, I don’t annoy them or burden them with my senselessness. I can’t ask for people’s time. I’m strong, I’ve been doing this on my own. My walls around me are a little patchy and crumble sometimes. But I find a way to quietly rebuild them so I don’t disturb anybody else walking by on the outside.
Why ask for help anyway? Not everybody has the answers. I mean, I don’t either. But still. What if I’m just seeking someone to give me the answers to all the problems I have? Will I be frustrated at them for not having the answers? I’ll be frustrated at myself for even asking them in the first place. I’ll be mad for wasting their time with something they can’t fix. They’ll be angry for me wasting their time with problems they can’t solve. I suppose nobody wins here, huh?
Life is a game, and I keep losing. I can’t make people lose with me. They have their own game of life to play. Who am I to interrupt their journey with my stupid existence?
I guess this is maybe how my mom felt. Maybe she did want help, but she felt like a burden so she didn’t want to search for it. But instead of alcohol consuming me like it did her, it’s my own mind that’s swallowing me whole.
There’s no cures for these things. I’ve been managing it as best as I can. But it’s too much at times. And all I can do is sit here and not act impulsively on these horrid thoughts. I have to drown out the demons with music. If it gets too quiet, then I’m in trouble. I have to keep telling myself that they’re only thoughts. That they’ll fade away… but they always return. Sometimes they’re further away from my prison, but other times they slither right into it with me and consume me, like right now.
I just sit here. All the time. Sit here and my mind is ever-flowing. Why is it sometimes okay, and then it’s not? It’s so intensely NOT okay. I can’t remember when I felt happy last. What is happiness? When I’m drowning in the dark, all the good things that once held me tightly have floated away from me. I can’t hold onto them because I’m too weak and I fall too deeply underwater.
But this is my fault. I can’t blame anyone else for this. I am who I am, and I’ve somehow chosen to close myself off and isolate myself somewhere along the way in this life. Somewhere in time is when this notion was pierced into my brain:
“Don’t ask for help. You can’t. It’s pathetic. They don’t care anyway. They’ll only help you out of pity. They’ll feel obligated to help because they don’t want to be responsible for anything bad that may happen. So just keep this to yourself. What they don’t know won’t hurt them, but it’ll murder you slowly. But that’s better than hurting anyone else. It’s selfish to tell them how you feel, especially if they’re the one who caused the feeling. Have you learned nothing? You can’t let them know. You can’t.”
“Don’t let it show. Keep it inside. Conceal everything you feel. When it’s dark inside, keep the light on outside so they think someone’s home and everything is just fine. No questions will be asked if they see the light. Keep your darkness to yourself. Don’t let it deep out of the cracks in the walls, windows and doors of your soul.”
I lost myself, but that’s nobody’s responsibility but mine to find me again.
Nobody has the answers. Maybe I don’t. But at least they won’t get caught up in my hurricane.
The lights are out,
my eyes are closed-
this is what it’s like
to be all alone.