The sad moment when you realize how alone you actually are. That no one ever messages you on facebook first or texts you first or anything. So it gets to the point where you don't want to put in the effort with people who don't put in any effort for you so you end up spending your life at home, never going anywhere.
Is there too much you can't say...? Or too much you can't admit to?
Bullshit. I call bullshit.
You think it's everyone else's fault. You point fingers and blame everyone else. You just keep running around in circles, chasing your own tail, thinking you're so cute, so precious, so fucking special.
Well, let me just tell you, words mean lots of things. They show how much you care, how much you listen, how much you think. When all you have are set phrases, trust me, no one will listen after the fiftieth time. If you think "Baby Baby Baby" is something I want to hear or see every time I open up, or names of genitalia is what I want to be called, then I'll walk to the nearest vandalized wall and write those words down and visit it all the time. Better yet, make it a thousand miles away and I'll walk there every time to talk to a wall. This is what you make people feel. You don't walk all the way over here to see me be me, you don't even meet me half-way to see me, you stay there and watch me walk there breaking my feet and tying my shoes to paint my face and let you laugh.
You have everything just fine.
But just fine just isn't good enough, now is it?
The truth isn't bullshit.
The truth is making the tide come in, and holding it around you, being able to breathe in and smell the ocean on your fingertips.
You are always so scared. You're always telling lies so you don't have to think. You are always running from the tide, so scared it'll swallow you whole.
Then you turn around, realize that you've made a mistake and chase it to the edge. But it's too late then.
This isn't a game of cat and mouse. Trust doesn't work like that. Love doesn't work like that. You can't keep changing your mind and pretending the last time didn't happen, doesn't exist, won't happen again. He's not going to wait for you forever. Then again, he's not going to be the only one. You act now, or you don't act at all, but even though I'm giving you an ultimatum, there really isn't a choice.
Don't be stupid. You can't keep playing like he's playing, you can't keep lying and then deciding to tell the truth, you can't keep expecting him to change, if you don't change first. If you don't break first and tell him first, and don't think about how the tide is wide and scary.
Just think about how the tide changes.
Change isn't full of bullshit.
You keep thinking that changing will kill you. You keep thinking that changing nothing will kill you. You keep thinking, and thinking, and thinking, but you can't even express yourself with words.
How about this: it's the same. Don't tell me I don't understand, because I do and you know it, too. Don't tell me I don't know what it's like to hurt myself, to degrade myself, to feel nothing but the cycles of the days being haunted by the ghost of our past and being unable to let it go. Being scared that once that's gone, there really is nothing. Fearing that you reallyarenothing. Because I felt it, too, and I still feel it, and I'm scared too. The world looks bleak and cold and crippling, and crying is the only way to bring colour and light. Sometimes you don't even understand why crying doesn't work, or why you're too tired to shed light. Why can't you just say it? Why can't you just ask for help? Why are you so scared? Why do you try, why do you keep crying for help when you ruin others? What's left of you?
Everything, all the questions and words and hurt all tied to your throat and your chest, cutting like barbed wire into the scars that are already splitting at the seams.
There's a point where fear and desperation and anger and hurt become the last layer of your heart, suppressed by expectation, responsibility, and the sugar-sweet. The only thing you can hold close are those fears and hurt and burdens.
My hand is open. Change doesn't mean happiness, no, but change means being able to breathe. To start breathing. Change means honesty, and clarity, and being able to have a better grasp on what happiness is.
Being able to admit out loud, with words, that you're scared and you are crying for help.
"So I call bullshit. The truth isn't bullshit. Change isn't bullshit. Living is bullshit, but only if you bullshit."