You’re walking quickly to the kitchen to grab some cereal, about to watching the new Orange Is The New Black season.

You don’t open your bedroom door far enough, and in your haste, your beloved pinkie toe is smashed against the side of the door.

Immediate pain runs through your entire foot. You stand there, in shock wondering, why in the world you did that to yourself.

Why must you feel this pain?

Seriously. It's the little things that kill you on the days when you're so stressed that the stupidest thing will send you over the edge. The anxiety coursing through you makes every minute thing a world-ending, catastrophic disaster.

"What's wrong?" asks a friend, seeing your tears streaming down your face.

"Stepped on a lego," you sob, nearly incoherent.

Your friend awkwardly pats your shoulder. "Al...alright."

It hurts, it breaks the dam, it wrecks your day, and even you know it's an overreaction. It's just the way it is.

It is not like the stories.

It is not fire and brimstone

and burning flesh.

It is not cold, dank depths.

Endless darkness.

Endless terror.

It is not what you thought.

It is a warm room,

your favourite room.

You sit between all the ones you love,

touch their flesh

and they will touch back.

You can talk and laugh,

it is always light,

it is always warm

and you are never, ever tired.

It is not what you thought.

Time doesn’t move slowly,

or quickly,

or at all it seems.

You do not change.

Your lover never leaves.

Your mother always smiles.

But somewhere,

it could be years

or a few minutes

into that warmth,

somewhere you start to wonder.

It could be fast,

like blinking while the light changes.

It could be a like a stone hitting your back.

Or it could be like poison.

Slowly, so slowly you do not remember

when you first notice,

everyone begins to repeat themselves.

Not like playback, not like puppets,

but like a child who has not read past the first chapter

of a book you wrote.

And they are all agreeing with you,

all the time.

You may try to test this-

shout obscenities and curses-

but they will only smile.

It is not what you thought.

There is warmth here,

and you are never tired,

but those around you have no depth

and you cannot leave

or sleep

or hide.

A smile is a smile is a smile,

is now just lips pulled over teeth.

You may try slap it from their faces,

the faces you love,

but they will only laugh.

Finally, you are in a world

where everything is comfort and safety,

and a friend who always laughs,

and a lover who will never leave you,

and a mother who is always smiling

but are they happy?

Can it be love if they have no other option?

No option

no standard

no meaning.

It is not what you thought.

It is not hot iron,

burning flesh.

It is the ache of never knowing,

of endless doubt in those around you,

the ones you love most.

It is your fear,

and your love for them,

and the emptiness of their servitude.

It is not what you thought.

The room will always be warm,

they will always smile,

and you will spend forever wondering;

can it be real

can it be good

if it never ends?

#wetpetals