Random Thoughts...

Pain.

I feel guilty when I say I'm not okay because of people's sympathy and worry and when they try to help but it isn't working. They try to make me feel okay but instead I just want to cry the day away. They say the same things "you'll be fine" "it will pass" but what if they don't see how bad it is? What if it doesn't pass? What if it only worsens and the mask only falls and scares the people away when they see the real damage that was caused. When they see the wall is slowly crumbling, slowly falling, slowly giving in to the weight pushing it down.
Pain is an ugly thing I wish to shove down, but shoving it down worsens us they say, "bottling it up isn't okay"
You need therapy
You need help
Go talk to someone and get it all out
But what if I don't trust this person? What if I can't say the words? What if bottling it up and forgetting about it is easier then saying the truth?
I can't even say these things to my self how in the fuck am I supposed to say it outloud
Write it in a journal
Write it in a diary
Write it in a poem
But then it's readable to those who have hold of it. It's readable to those who I keep these secrets from. Readable to those who can't know the pain of mine. The thoughts are painful, the memories worse, the blade not helping much but it silences the noise, it silences the voices who keep trying to shove me down to earth's core.
Pain, it's not a beautiful thing, it's a thing that tears people apart piece by piece till nothing is left. Something we try to repel as much as we can but it consumes us till it is us. Oh, I wish to be a kid again. But even then.... Life was cruel to me.... Even then I could hear their screams, the bottles slammed against the walls, the ones with holes in them from fists....even then I hid under the blankets wishing to be anywhere else at all.
Pain is an ugly twisted creature who I wish I could shoot dead. They say you need the pain to enjoy the good times but fuck pain and their lies.
And that is my writing of the day.