Monologues of the mind

Words

I was fine.
I wasn't good.
I wasn't bad.
I was fine.
I was coping for a few days, things become a bit clearer, old habits began to fade and life became vivid again. The kind of vividness you only see when life is good, when life is great.

But then one name. One stupid name. That's all it took to begin the spiral back to self-hatred, to self-loathing, to the me I had become so very familiar with.
I shouldn't be so surprised anymore really, it's happened so many times that I should get a loyalty card. That it should be the name of my autobiography that no one would buy.

But it's my fault, I should have opened up, I should have said something before.
Before the name trickled out of someone else's mouth, it should have left mine first. But instead it stayed there, locked up like a disobedient prisoner, my brain the key-holder.

Maybe I should stop trying, accept its not "meant to be" and move on. Wishful thinking leads no where and that's all it ever is.
Thinking.
Thoughts.
But never words.
No.
Never words.