i am afraid to express myself in every single outlet. i hold my breath a lot more lately. i dont know if these two are connected. i would like to think that they are.
i went to bed at 115. i woke up around 230 feeling absolutely used and disgusted. this is how it works. years will pass and you will come back to me and tell me you made a mistake chasing what you thought was an ideal. what you thought would pass for perfection. and i will take every single one of you back. every single time. because thats how i work. yr pedestal may have fallen years ago when yr gaze first faltered but i am so much weaker than i let on.
right now i am trying to quell the urge to throw myself down the closest flight of stairs so that i wont have to show up for work in four hours. wondering how many sedatives i can take and sleep through every alarm. dreaming up excuses to keep me safe. i will always be the girl who jumps a little too far for her own good. gives a little too much. i often wonder what it would be like if people were completely honest with each other. spoke when necessary. didnt hold back. it would probably be just as terrifying as holding my tongue.
i also think its strange how one word can send my stomach plummeting to the ground and make the fetal position the only thing that brings any sort of temporary relief. in that moment, i hated myself. even though it should have been you. it should have always been "you" being held responsible. but there i harbor so much deep seeded self loathing that there is never anyone else at fault but myself. i gave too much of myself to you. i believed in you too much. i played the fool. you could use me to hell and back and id never blame anyone other than me. i will sit here at three in the morning wondering what i did wrong, failing to realize that some people are just never worth the things they put you through. is this because i am always looking for the good in you? is it because im trying to make you my ideal?
when i was a kid, i didnt have a set career in mind when i thought of wanted to be when i grew up. all i knew for sure is that i wanted to know everything. and when i say everything, i mean everything. i was obsessed with random facts as far back as i can remember. i wanted to know the most pointless things. who the first person to eat en entire cantaloupe in one sitting was. the exact time and date of my great great great grandfathers' death. the things that would never matter to anyone but myself. tonight, i read the line 'a part of knowing everything is remembering everything' and in that moment, i wanted to forget it all.
you tell me on a regular basis how amazed you are that i can remember exact details. the pattern of the shirt i wore the day my brother was born. the seating arrangement at thanksgiving six years ago. for a fair portion of my life i was just convinced this was how we all worked. it tends to go that way, i have learned. just when you think you are a part of something, you are left alone. but this is not my point.
i remember how you compared our heights, how even in the dark you could tell you were just barely taller than me and you mumbled, "this could work." as though the last deciding factor for whether or not a relationship will be successful is your comparative heights. this is not my point. i remember how you used every line i wished you would, every line i wanted to hear. and looking back, i ask myself how i knew i wanted to hear those words. because they were the ones i grew up on. because i found most of my hope at two in the morning between the pages of our favourite books. my favourite dreams were the ones you had to search for.
(last night i got a phone call from a past "you," having since moved on to become insignificant enough to be called by his first name. after i described what i had been up to the past couple weeks, i paused and laughed, telling him it sounded like i had just described the plot to a horrible movie. he laughed along with me and agreed, then stopped suddenly and asked me, "isnt that what you always wanted?" i quickly changed the subject, not wanting to explain that nothing will ever be as good as it is behind my teeth. eyes shut and lips tight.)
i dont want to know everything. i am too ashamed of the things i do know and the fact that i am able to retain such information for so long. and when i say "ashamed" its more like "disgusted" knowing that eventually i will be the only one who will still be able to hear yr voice saying those words. and what terrifies me even more is that once im gone, its like we never existed.
this is not my point. the truth is, there isnt one. these are just words that have to be put down in order for me to get to sleep any time soon. these are just stories that i have to tell. if i were anyone else i would have a choice. the only choice ive got right now is a flight of stairs or a lengthy summation of why i want my insides out.
so anytime you want back, the door is obviously open. even if it should be sealed shut. maybe someday i will learn, but i am highly doubting it.