This is me better. Is that fucked up?

Just thought I’d ask. No one else is around to listen. Seems the world has gone vacationing in their heads. Reality is a lonely place to reside. I’ll tell you why.

I’m not that bad. I need to write the pain away, and there’s a lot of pain. It doesn’t mean I’m fragile. I’m just trying to make it through the day. Do you understand? There’s only so much a person can keep inside. And since most of my friends are worthless listeners, too self-interested to know the difference between real problems and drama, I write.

I’m being mean, but I’m embracing the bitterness today. I’m tired of these static human beings that talk to me over lunch about the good old days. I don’t want to hear about your twisted love life—as much as you don’t want to hear how you’re doing it to yourself, that you have a choice but you just won’t take it. I want to protect you, so I nod my head instead.

Let me do something different for a minute. Let me take this moment to tell you what it feels like to not have a choice.

Dark. No options. Sitting up in bed, watching your boyfriend curled on the floor, beating his fists against the dresser. You’re sure he’s already broken it, but you’re not wondering about the damage. You’re wondering at the strength it must have taken to crack that wood. If those fists hit you next, what damage will they do? And you wonder if you can get to your cell phone without calling his attention back to you. You realize you can’t. His eyes are up, and he’s watching you. Please, oh, God, let me make it out alive.

Get it?

I begged for my life. I begged for my sanity. And the man to whom I begged, he whispered “fuck you” in my ear.

But I understand. You’re not awake to the illusion called control. Or you’re in denial. Who am I to wake you? So I leave it alone, listen to you talk about this guy and that. I don’t care. It’s blah blah blah to me, but I nod enthusiastically and try to tell you in the nicest way possible, you’re dating an asshole.

Whatever. Your life. Not mine. I’ve seen what happens when I wake the unprepared. I’m alone, and they don’t change, still too afraid. No, I’ve suffered too much heartbreak and loneliness this year. I’m not doing that anymore. You want the truth? Go find it. I’m done. Call me when you’re sentient. You think I’m bad? You hardly know yourself, you happy fool.

You don’t want therapy? What do you think I am to you?