n. a phenomenon in which you have an active social life but very few close friends—people who you can trust, who you can be yourself with, who can help flush out the weird psychological toxins that tend to accumulate over time—which is a form of acute social malnutrition in which even if you devour an entire buffet of chitchat, you’ll still feel pangs of hunger.
Me: ...
My brain:
I can feel it looming in. The days where I want to shut myself in and force a wide smile on my contorted and disfigured face. Stretched all too fake and plastic. It's sickening how you can fool someone with just a smile and a laugh.
I try to push it away with all my might. Shoves. Kicks. Punches. Nothing works. You can't create a brawl with your own mind. Even a weak as fuck brain has strong defenses. Can't stop it from producing the thoughts that blindly makes you want to just lie there. No one to talk to but yourself.
I miss yo-
I'm sorr-
Forgive me.
Even talking to people is tiring. Because guess what? They're not you.
Selfish. Alone. That's what you deserve for lying. Covering up the truth. Selfish.
I always seem to be better off alone. Thinking alone with no one to meddle in the murky thoughts of sadness. Alone with no one to talk to but I tried and what a shitty method it was. Fuck that shit.
I don't want to think about you.
It's still you I end up thinking about.
My brain can never stop picking a fight and it's so dull and boring because all I can ever think about when I talk to people is you.
It's shitty.
It's boring. Repetitive. Better be quiet.
It's draining to have to go through this in a place that you have no one to blame but yourself so you do. It's better to inflict the hurt in peace. In the blanket of silence.
Better to hurt in peace. No one can really help. Can't even help yourself. Pathetic.
Why did you have to leave me like this? Deliver a blow so hard. Without a warning. Without a single fucking warning.
My mind seems to be strong. But my heart isn't.
Should have been laid down in small slaps. Not pucnhes in the gut. Not pushed away with a harsh shove.
'Focus on yourself', they said. What a beautiful mess is what I call myself. I love myself for loving you long. Learned it with a smile because growing with someone there together is better than doing it alone.
I'm a mess but I made it beautiful. I'm not perfect. You aren't either. But that's what made me accept the real me.
Sucks to be you because you can't be content for a goddamn second.
I was there to accept every bit of flaw because honestly it's not so bad. The flaws you have are justified by my blinded eyes. For some reason I wasn't enough to convince you about that. Sucks to be you.
But there are times where I hate myself. It's hard not to. Hating yourself bleeds into the way you act. The way you speak. The way you look. The way you communicate.
Better to leave than to hurt others.
I have a tongue that bites and God does it hurt.
I'm always kind. Always considerate. Always gentle. Always loving. Always polite. Always there.
Apparently the always doesn't apply anymore.
I'm broken way before I met you. Fixed me up a bit here and there. And broken again.
Breaking apart isn't so hard when you're used to its inevitability.
I'm not like you that has the pale hand of nicotine to warm me up during the cold hours of pain. Nothing to numb me from the freezing cold of shitty emotions that pile up inside. A drug that can make me forget broken hearts. Crushed dreams. Empty promises. Harsh words.
I'm not like you that has the world in the palm of his hands. Free to go around the streets. Free to roam around on a skateboard with the thrill of adrenaline pumping in your veins. Free to feel the rush of the wind slapping you awake in the dead hours of the night.
I'm not like you that lifts weights almost the same as your body mass. To feel the lick of pain creeping in your sore muscles. To feel the pain till it's like nothing but an ant bite. Better to physically hurt than to feel it right inside the chest where not even the greatest doctor can cure.
I'm not like you that has someone to talk to. To distract you. To stay up late for you. To understand you despite the unfamiliarity.
I know you didn't ask me to do so.
(But please let me do it again.)
Pathetic is what I am. I'm weak. For you.
God, does it hurt to be hurt again. Over you.
I try to talk like a composed and decent human being. But the bitterness is so strong on all the surfaces of my tongue that it's too much that not even water can wash it away.
Composure and decency when it comes to my emotions are found dead in the ditch.
I'm a beautiful mess.
Beautiful but still a mess.
A mess but still beautiful.
However, I can't recognize myself these days.
It's hard to find myself again where pain lingers in every corner of my mind.
It's a price I have to pay for pouring almost all of my self to you. Bare without hesitations. Why did it have to be that you'd also understand me? Same shitty problems for shitty people.
I hope you know you're not the only person who has walls up so high. In this situation, I have built up mine pretty damn high as well but it was only for you I voluntarily broke them apart.
It was true what they said about giving your all.
I didn't know it was also this addictive enough to not stop. Deceiving. Manipulating the truth to have that kind of happiness.
I lost you. At least give me ways on how to rehabilitate myself.
I'm lost and no one seems to find me.
I'm bad at finding myself because I'm only the me I am for people who I see worth it.
I'm lost and no one seems to claim me. Again.
Fix me please.
A laugh comes out comfortably out of my chest but as I draw in a breath, the pain is still there as if the happiness fake as it is didn't last that long. Because it never does.
Fix yourself.
I'm sorry.
