~Her words were my poison. I used them to consume myself.
Disturbingly honest. Painfully strained. Carefully penned down. Dangerously addictive.~
A journal that landed in the right hands and told a whole story with words, no lips could speak.
Two...
Sometimes it feels like loving is the problem. I don't know how to articulate my thoughts for this one. It just feels like something I wasn't supposed to have to explain.
This is the third time this week I've had to control myself and hold back the sobs and explaining it is supposed to make this better? Right?
So this is my explanation; to you, because today I need you to exist. And a little bit to myself.
Loneliness taught me something only it could have: loving is the problem.
Irrespective of the kind of love we're talking about here. Whether it's a person or animal or thing or place or something else entirely, love is the problem. Loving is the easiest way to get hurt. It's the only way of really getting hurt. Sometimes I feel this deep stabbing pain in my chest, a random lump forming in my throat and an urgent need to sit down because of this almost general sadness that crawls into my skin. A sort of sadness that almost unidentifiable. It just sneaks up on you for no particular reason other than someone needs to feel it.
But you know I would never give up loving. Loving is all that feels natural and real and nothing else is even remotely comforting when I think about life and where I'm headed.\
P.S. Chase seems withdrawn.
P.P.S. I miss him.
Wendy and Lock had spent the day with me. They wouldn't leave. I looked over at both of their sleeping bodies. Lock was fairly large and Wendy look tiny in comparison. They both occupied different sides of the bed. Lock hugged a pillow and Wend was entirely under the covers. We were in Lacey's room. She hadn't come back from dinner with my parents. I was too scared to go look for her and I knew that made me a bad brother but I also physically couldn't get myself to face them.
I hadn't coped with everything. And I was hoping I wouldn't have to face it tonight. The worry gnawed at me as I tried to convince myself that she was safe. I could hear Wendy whisper in her sleep. Even the covers didn't block her words out. I didn't know why but it comforted me. I put down the diary but that feeling that a threat loomed didn't leave. I couldn't think straight with my rising panic.
If they hurt Lace it would be my fault. Because I couldn't protect her. My baby sister.
Yet, somehow, the most troubling thought my brain produced was worse: what if they really have changed? Had I been the problem? I wanted Lace to be safe but I also felt guilty for not fully wanting her to be pleased with them.
The thought made me sick and I immediately rushed to the bathroom, retching. The little I had eaten came rushing out. The weakness nearly consumed me.
"Hey, I've go you," Wendy placed a hand on my shoulder.
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