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There is a heavy lump that has settled into my chest. It is always suspended there, no matter how many times I cough to try and release it. Sometimes it chills me to the bone; other times it burns hotter than the fires of hell. For the most part, it hides. But very subtly, it shows itself. It manifests. It is every beautiful scar I’ve given myself. It is all the brutal looking ones that started as paper cuts or animal scratches (the ones I always make worse). It is the pair of bags under my eyes I see when I catch my reflection. It is the somber, brooding mood I always find myself in. It is the fact that living alone has become difficult.

I am so tired of saying “I’m fine.” I’m on the verge of mental breakdown all the time, but the wonderful thing about people is (for the most part) they’re not obligated to care. What’s more, anyone not capable of controlling their emotions at work (aka “acting normal”) is considered weak, sometimes even a spectacle, something to stare at. I desperately need a shoulder to cry on, both figuratively and literally. Someone who will listen without judging me or my feelings. As I write that, I realize how pathetically lonely it makes me sound. How can I be so lonely? That in itself is hard enough to wrap my head around, let alone naming justifications. I mean, it’s not for lack of company. I suppose there are two kinds of loneliness, those being of the physical and mental sorts (of course, this is probably not news to philosophers, mental doctors, and the like, but it’s news to me). Like I say, physically, I’m not in need of company. There are always people around. I work with people around at any one given time. There’s always someone home. Even my car rides! I only drive myself to and from work once or twice a week. But in my head, I am constantly feeling pressured to just keep my thoughts to myself, to shut up, because no one wants to hear my problems. I suppose my parents would listen, because they are my parents and they love me. However I find it harder and harder to relate with them as time goes on, and that makes it more difficult in turn to “confide” in them, as it were. I’m at a loss for ways to keep from losing my mind.


Note: This was written months ago on paper, and only just now typed and uploaded.