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by its_petrichor

by its_petrichor

it's pouring rain outside
and I
having closed all windows with regret due to lightning
am writing again

I like to write when it rains
rain reminds me there are always things I haven't said but should
rain brings out the worst in me
it strips me naked
there is something so morbid about that
and I live for it

on todays's thunderstorm realisations
in other words
something I'm too much of a coward to say on a regular Wednesday
I can no longer tell whether my hair is growing back or falling out again

there
I said it

what comes next
I don't know
and I don't mean what comes after I've finished writing this and return to my daily duties
I mean what comes after that sentence

because I don't know how to talk about it
because it's been ten years
and I still have no idea what I'm supposed to say
what I'm supposed to feel when this happens time and time again
because I don't know what I feel right here right now

I don't ever let it in
I haven't once let it in
I keep it locked away in my deepest darkest corner
and it rots there
I have refused to deal with it my whole life
it's so ugly
where I keep it
I haven't been there
but I know it's ugly
and sad
and catastrophic
and I know if I let all that shit in
it is going to kill me

slowly
mercilessly
it is going to take away everything that I am
everything I love
everything I wish to be
and it's going to laugh in my face
and it is going to kill me

I know this
I have always known it
I tell people
it's a condition I've had since I was eight
and it's not curable
but it's also not deadly
so don't worry
and it is the worst fucking lie I've ever told
because wasn't it me who leaned over the railing of my fifth floor balcony a couple of years back and wondered what it would feel like to fall to my death?

and god
it's been three years since then
and I keep lying like there was no tomorrow
I'm delusional
I'm ignorant
and I'm a fucking coward

but I also think I have every right to be
because the way I choose to deal or not to deal with this
is solely my business and my business only
because the number of times I can do this
they are counted
as it turns out

and as it turns out
people around you
they will forget your most obvious struggles
they know what it takes for you to show up places
but they forget it
and they expect the world from you
and they expect you to be fine
and they expect you to keep it together
at least in front of them
so that they wouldn't have to deal with the mess that you are
they are afraid you will make this their problem
and that's fine because everyone is constantly healing from something they do not talk about

but there is sometimes this line I wish I could draw
a line drawn between the highest point of how much longer I am able to carry this by myself and the point where I make this someone else's business before it's too late
where is that line between a 14-year-old kid telling her father she doesn't want to wake up anymore and her father deciding not to deal with that?
or the same kid showing him the lines on her wrist a couple of years later?
where is that line between you complaining about a business deal that didn't go through or getting dumped or paying mortgage and me crying quietly in my room
disclosed from everyone and anyone
because it is the only time I get to grieve
to grieve the person I could've been
to grieve the person I was
the one I could love
to grieve all the things that vanished into thin air with every hair that fell out
to grieve my lonely ass childhood
to grieve all the friends and all the boyfriends I didn't have
to grieve freedom
to grieve wind in my hair on a hot summer day

I am grieving
all the time
and all the time
you forget it
you forget my grief
and you forget I am sick
and I'm not gonna lie
from where I'm standing
your immaculate ability to forget so quickly and without a trace
it seems like the easiest god damn thing you'd ever done

and it hurts
so much