I was told a story about something painful. As if death is anything but.
There are times when hearing about a person dying does nothing for me. I have watched gory videos and laughed over creepypasta post while drinking my herbal tea. I have sliced my wrist and burned sins into my skin in hopes that it would all go away. Honestly, death is nothing but a friend.
Yet, there are times when I find myself crying over it. I do not understand how my greater craving can be my nightmare. Death astounds me with its grace and yet, here I am suffering.
A loved one has passed away and I do not know what to do. I do not know how to feel….
I am just numb to it all.
But everything I write suggest otherwise. I cant concentrate on school cause I begin to think about him. I begin to miss a man I haven’t seen in years. A man broken by a war I wasn’t alive to witness. So much so little kids had to stay silent in his presence. I miss him and I do not know why. He was the kindest man but I can’t remember a damn thing he did. I barely remember his voice and yet I miss him.
I regret the fact that no one trusted me enough to love him.
Because I can’t say I love a person I wasn’t given a chance to know. I hate myself for never reaching out. But how could I when every sound I made took him right back to the battle field.
Have I ever told you that there are days where I can not leave my room. I start to panic at the though of getting out of bed. That something underneath it will grab me or sometime horrible will happen if I sit out in the living room. Time and time again I have to convince myself that no one ia going to bust through my apartment door to shoot me. That every time I hear a car pull up it isn’t someone coming up to harm my daughter and I. It gets worse at night because I can hear and see everything. Someone is always watching. I can feel them breathing as I fall asleep. Some days, if I am not careful, they will even start to crawl there way up my body. During those times I find that I am unable to move. I can not make no sounds. It hurts so bad that I am often to afraid to to to sleep.
Through all of this I can not leave my home without talking myself into it first. There are days when I can walk out just fine and others when I can not even bring myself to unlock the door. I constantly make excuses not to leave, waiting until the very last moment before I go shopping. Even then, I will only go when I have someone else to take me.
I want to be normal. I hate fighting my mind for the privilege to be sane. Some days I feel as though I can do pretty much anything. Crowds don’t bother me as much though I still panic if I get to much attention. The other days I suffer and I am afraid to tell anyone about it. Instead I pretend to be normal. I make up excuses to why I can not leave. I joke with friends about how I am such a spazz and that is why I need them to take me to the store. I will spends hundreds on fast food because, while I can open the door, stepping outside if a different matter.
I want to be normal so much that I do not acknowledge the diagnosis my doctor gave me. I ignore the symptoms and play it off as me being a young mom. I lie and tell people I go places when I do not. I do not want them to worry. But they do it anyways.
I am far from normal and it hurts me every fucking day.