The things I never said out loud would likely fill a very, very small bucket.

Like the one you stick ketchup and mustard in at a mom 'n pop diner - a tiny bucket.

I try so hard - so very hard - to just not speak.

I'll even try to refrain from commenting on Prose posts because inevitably I'll start getting carried away and typing in whole mini posts in the comments. I'll struggle, hit the like button, and then try to force myself to step away.

It would be great if society hadn't developed this polite, "Hey, I'm gonna let you take a turn!" talking rule. With me that's like saying, "Hey, I'm gonna just kick aside this floodgate for a second, 'cause you just seem too quiet, huh?"

I was quiet for a reason!!! Nooooooooooooo!!

My partner gets it. They don't even beat around the bush anymore. They just cut me off and say, "I've stopped listening, wrap it up." It shocks people but honestly, it's so nice to have that clearcut intervention.

'Cause I don't need to say everything. My thoughts can quite happily bounce around inside my head until they get replaced in five seconds with new ones. It's OK.

I'M SORRY

for what?

saying that you didn't matter

and?

turning my back against you

anything else?

leaving. staying. talking. staying silent.

I miss you and I wish that I could do it all over...

... (silence)

i'm really sorry and i want you to know that.

I'm just in your head and you know it. It's too late. You knew that I was going. You know that I am gone, gone with your tears from long ago.

... (silence)

I miss you too.

x libbythepencil x

you there, in the faux lab coat with the overly large ego. you’ve got a flair for the dramatics, don’t you? spare me the excuses, you crawl into the crevices of others’ lives and call it an observation. you track tragedies from a distance and call it an experiment. do you know when to stop? when to let go? when does scientific curiousity amount to intrusion, a part of ourselves stolen and placed under a microscope? i get the fascination, the duty to understand the human mind in the name of science. but your disciples come to you as clean slates and leave with violence-coloured glasses, so desensitised to the brutality of human nature that i question why anyone’s ever drawn to you in the first place. to fix something in ourselves? we straddle the worlds of the conscious and unconscious, but a slight toe out of line and it’s a freefall descent into the lawless pits of the psyche.

you may say it’s my fault for letting you in, well how was i supposed to know you wouldn’t leave? you plant your roots between my eyes and take the reins on my cognition - that is to say, i see you everywhere: in this oscar-winning movie i wanna sink my mind into without psychoanalysing; in my relatives when they ask me to therapize my father; in myself when my inability to form attachments scream out at me from within the pages of my textbook. you live in my mind and pay rent in life lessons i never asked for. yet i always find your little presents hidden in all the nooks and crannies of our mind. your gift of empathy is a privilege i’ve never taken lightly. i’ve no object permanence when it comes to love, but i’m starting to understand that just because i can’t see it doesn’t mean it’s not there. 

maybe this blend of bitterness and anger towards you is my own form of imaginary audience and personal fable. my amygdala controls far more than i’d like to admit; these unregulated feelings stemming from my adolescent brain like to pretend they know what they’re doing. sometimes i think i’ve got our future figured out, sometimes i wanna rip your head off. i tread lightly with the people in my life, more cautious than ever of the intricacies of human behaviour. when my friend’s mental illness is mentioned in class, i listen more attentively than ever. as much as i reject you, as much as i never saw my life heading towards your direction, i find comfort in your presence, in the way you settle in my mind.

so where do we go from here?

I need help.

I don't understand what's going on in my mind.

I feel like I don't know myself.

I have so many questions that I can't answer.

I need help.

I'm not ok...

I watch you with the anxiety of a new mother

as you amble down the street in preparation for a run,

your gait uneven and slow,

but your will unwavering

still the You of old

as you fight -

to maintain

a modicum

of normalcy,

to keep at bay

depression

as you lose

You,

as you do

the only thing

with some hope

of slowing

the progression

of your steady

decline;

I watch you, choking on tears,

as I smile encouragement

wave and blow kisses of support;

I watch you and see You

in a body that is failing you

far too soon,

hoping the mind -

already showing

signs of decay -

stays with me

just a little longer;

I watch you, I love you,

and I am missing You

even though

you are

with me

still.

*****

You stand on the porch like an anxious new mother

waving and blowing kisses

and I bask in your love

at the same time

that I hate it.

I know

that you have always

done this

even before PD

but it feels different now -

after PD.

I feel like a child

that needs worrying

and encouragement

even though

I am just going for a run.

A run that I can’t do now

without dragging

and panting

and aching.

A run that once

took me less than 20 minutes

and now takes

almost an hour.

You watch me

and I feel my loss

more acutely;

I miss who I was

who I will never be

again,

as you stand there

still you, always you,

still loving me

as I am.

For years I've watched from the sidelines

Longing to be a part,

But always being apart,

Because one loophole makes me afraid.

But I won't do it, I can't, I won't,

No matter how much I want to be

One of them;

Be on the stage, feel the light.

They say I can do it anyway,

But whether I can I'll never say.

I cannot ask, though I have tried,

And now I'll never have the chance.

If I really wanted it, would I have done more?

But it's too late now, and I'll move on.

But still look back and wonder:

How would it have been

If I'd had the courage to speak up?

All I want to do is sit alone & cry.. silently & lonely in my melancholy mind..

I'm at peace with my darkness and my crimes.. no one makes demands of my body and definitely not my mind.. Sadness & darkness is where I retreat, it's my comfort you see.. I can relax into my song of sadness as long as I kept hiding.. Crying tears of agony makes the evil me obey.. When I get time to dive into my melancholy mind it frees me for that moment in time.. Taking care of others with lost hopes and broken souls sucks away my power so I break down.. Wishing for the moment I can sneak away.. Constanty waiting to go back home to my Melancholy Dreams..

(#5) When I look at my stove, I think of you. Because you are hot, like my stove is. Sometimes. But you are always that... hot, I mean, unlike my stove- which does cool down sometimes. Which you never do.

(#4) Let's all go down to the gastro-pub and fill ourselves with some glorious gasses. I call Shotgun!

(#3) Ed Sheeran showers more often than us earthlings all may think he does.

(#2) My zygote is chapped.

(#1) Can you please not leave your sesame sticks on the floor? They fracture easily, and I'm not in the mood for the stepping on them! Wait, Heidi Klum is on the TV.