The Little Sorrow

It's a little haywire now. But... I kind of expected it. I thought I was in bliss for so long. And frankly, so long was just a month. A month of ignorance. A month thinking-I'm ok. I'm happy. With therapy. With my friends. With him. With her. With them. With school. With work. But now-

I can't cry hard enough.

I can't feel anything. 

I can't understand why the screams won't just.... erupt from the inside of my corkscrewed throat.

Instead, here I am. Sitting. Waiting and thinking if I was better off dead. You know sometimes, people tell me I'm a good person. But good feels like my body is going to pop. Good feels like I can't say no to the constant reliving of the abuse. Good means "I love you" "You mean so much to me" "I really care about you and I'm there for you" but really.... Good means goodbye. It means they say those words, but they're slowly taking from me. Eating at my pieces. The pieces that keep me alive and intact. The pieces that help me feel something other than the emotional compacting going on within my charred mind. Good means being abandoned. 

She was good. 

I wish I had her back. Even if she picked him over me. I still love her. Now she's gone and I'm left to bare the agony of shaming her with my honesty and my sorrow. Her forever is so painfully erased. But so excruciatingly alive. 

She was good.

The only good.

Sometimes my skin crawls. But it doesn't crawl when I look at you. Or her. Or him. Or them. It crawls when I see reflective surfaces. When I see the gregarious animal-staring. Mirroring me. And then the darkness just hovers a little. Over me. Around me. Surrounding me. Engulfing me in the pits of its enticingly, warm painless tendrils. It encroaches on me so quickly. Doesn't take too long before the lack of pain, and the warmth skyrockets into empty pain, deafening quiet and a bitterly glacial temperature that settles over my skin. When  a chasm of hailing thoughts-screaming and echoing inside me to alert me on how worthless I really am, suddenly wipes away the silence and warmth. Yet. It entices me more than the reality that the monster I am staring at is me.

The sounds of horns on passing vehicles, my friend calling to me, the phone ringing, my battery dying, or that little background chatter, they'd flood in after, reminding me of where I am. Next to vehicle's window, in the bathroom mirror washing my face or brushing my teeth, shutting down my computer and staring into the black screen and even... just warming my milk in the microwave and getting caught in its reflective surface. 

It only happens in a split second. So much pain. Felt in such little time. It doesn't feel like I'm breathing. It feels like my body is inwardly... crushing itself. I feel the weight of my body sinking so low. Like I'm being covered. Covered by myself. By how... disgusting I am. But really. It's just my shame. 

Shame.

If I knew better I would say I went through hell and back within seconds. Yet all I really feel is the shame and insecurities of how ugly I am. How used I am. How undesirable I am. But the sweaty palms. The etched memories in my mind and the rapid breathing. The palpitations of my tired heart echoing in my ears. It's voice pounding against my temples. Screaming that I need to wake up. To realize-

I am alive.

So many people say "You are beautiful to me". Society tells me: You are not enough. Science tells me: My ratios aren't right. The system says: You are not enough. I might get tired one day. And getting tired might mean I finally decide to feel pain. Not the emotional. I want to feel. To breathe the groans of physical agony and cry because the exterior has been destroyed. Not because the interior is constantly dying and no one can see. 

"But you look fine." 

Of course I look fine. Why would I want you to know what I really feel? I let one person know and I was thrust into so much more torment because of just... being honest. Sometimes, you don't have to look sad to be sad. Sometimes you're afraid to seem insensitive about what others are going through. I just don't want to be a burden. I don't want to be pushed away. Shut out. Ignored. Stepped on. But most of all. 

I don't want to be alone. 

Even if being alone makes me happy. 

I wish I had a chance to redo the pain I felt. But I don't think this world is a place where pain doesn't happen. 

I'm not enough. And it's sad because. I look at everyone else. And they're so enough. They seem to know what they're doing. What they want. Who they want. I feel like... I don't always have enough to say. Or a lot to say. But if someone just took a little step into my brain. They'd step into a world where... even I hide away from. 

I don't want to eat anymore. Or sleep anymore. I don't like being told I'm enough anymore. I don't like waking up anymore. I wake up and another day feels like another trial. Another persecution. It's so hard to drag myself out of bed when my eyes hurt to open to bare the incredibly painful brightness of a world I don't feel like I belong to. When it hurts to breathe properly. When my stomach hurts to the point where I sit in a fetal position for minutes, waiting for the pain to subside. But the pain never stops because my mind doesn't slip away from the despair it feels. So I go through every day. Afraid, sad, down, judgmental, regretting everything, and waiting to forget everything while I sleep. But sleep happens and I still wake up crying and remembering her. And him. And him. Them. And that.

I hope one day.

Things will be a bit better. 

I want to help him. And her. Those who have felt what I feel every day. Let them know how enough they really are. I might not believe it myself. But I know if I look at them. I'll know they're perfect. Even if it will take from me to feel like I deserve to feel the same. 

Maybe one day I won't be so sorrowful and alone. 

Maybe one day-

I'll be happy.

                                                                                                                        ~The Little Sorrow❀

Author's Note

It may be rambling. But if any of you feel this way. Know you are enough. Know you mean more than the word worthless. Know that you don't need to give discounts out to people who don't care about you. And that those who love you-They hide in plain site.