the sidewalk

one fine day I strolled along a busy sidewalk, he was on my side – staring, completely obliterating any mental protection I’d built over many years, the invisible bubble that keeps me safe (in my own mind).

then he told me “because I need”. And suddenly I stopped. We both did. I started to cry while I got angry. I whined and tried to take a big step forward but he grabbed me by the arm and I told him “please stop… don’t…” – “but I need, I need” so I just ran away and disappeared forever.

well, not that long ago we crossed paths, he had the same stupid haircut and the same stupid everything but….

when we were on that sidewalk and we stopped? That was when I felt the weight of the world fall on me and I fully believe every bad thing that happens in the world is my own fault.

so while I try to fight it and it’s not his fault (… I think – I’m easily confused by one’s kindness) nor mine (working on it), it’s just stupid and I hate it and I’ll always hate it.

that is, I hate me. Because it’s always my fault.

but it really isn’t. And I know it. Deep down, somewhere I can’t reach in my weirdest dreams, I know it’s not my fault. It’s not.

there’s a huge difference between knowing and feeling. They’re opposites that just happen to crossover sometimes but the gap between these two are destructive, mean and vicious.

they tear me apart, they bring me to tears and fill me with joy, they make me believe and they make me want to end it.

i know it’s not my fault. I feel it is my fault. I have one brain so why the fuck should it be so unkind to not free itself from these thoughts that constantly create unwanted noise?

to be honest I just want to sleep. I want the sky to cry for me because there are no more tears left in me, my skin is dry and my tongue hurts. I just want to lay down and disappear inside a fluffy blanket, that perfect temperature between not warm enough and too warm. There’s this beige duvet I’ve been holding on to all day. Every day is exactly the same and yet I feel the need to have something constant.

safe places, safe places online, safe places in the physical world, safe places (very few) in my own mind. Safe, safe, safe.

safe from harm, from guilt, from ad nauseam … bad and malicious to manic fleeting joy.

free, in my beige blanket, writing out for the world to (not) see – I managed to convince myself this cannot be accessed. See how it works? I get naked in here, while my fingers go on autopilot and take over, never to hit delete, just adding and adding characters. Yet, I feel safe because *no one* will ever read this. But I know that’s not true.

and that’s when the gap between knowing and feeling can get mixed up – both of them can either work with me or against me.

fuck sidewalks, I’ll walk on the road – I’d take my chances any day

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