understand me

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i don't think you understand me. i sit in the counselors office, crying because i saw him four times today and i can't handle the rapid heat beat, difficulty breathing, or dizziness any longer. you don't understand me. you will never understand me or why i can't just "stop thinking about it". it's an experience that makes zero sense until you go through it yourself. he used me as if i was his and still hasn't given me back. even after all this time he has the power to make me go weak, numb—to break my resolve by stealing a few more inches of my space. you will never understand why i can't just "be okay". and i never want you to understand the way i do. i don't want you to see yourself in these words and think "she gets me". because then your life would feel as disrupted as mine.

even though she's of zero help i'd rather cry in the counseling department than on the bathroom floor. those tiles have been soaked with enough of my tears, they're sick of me too. "you're being dramatic", i wish i was. "it's been so long", and it kills me to know i might never get over it. "he's not following you", then his sudden appearances at all my classes, lunches, and daily routes is a coincidence—an occurrence that i don't even believe in. to be understood is to understand; so i see what you see and i get how you may think i'm too much. but you will never feel the way i do. i can put myself in your shoes, but you will never and should never take a day in my life. you wouldn't last. i've pretended to be okay for so long that now, that i just need to be hurt. to mourn my old self and wish someone tried to help me when I couldn't help myself–i so desperately needed it.

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