call me out, but don’t expect that I will answer

I am accustomed to my own nonsense.

Desensitized to the trauma of the clinics, the doctors, the tests and medications, emergency departments, ambulances, IV's and treatments - sure, all of that. But mostly, to my jokes. I cope with humor. This isn't news to anyone. But what is new to me is how you respond. It puzzles me.

I don't know what to do with your words. I shy away. I flinch from them. You don't laugh when I joke about the things that are not funny, you ignore the joke and tell me how much you admire me. You're proud of me. You can't imagine going through this stuff is easy, and it seems like I always have a great attitude about it. Who told you you could see through me like that? Who said you were allowed?

Fuck off with that. Fuck off. I want to be mad. Let me be mad, please. I have to. Let me ignore it. Let me make 'grr' faces when you compliment my survival skills. (I shouldn't have to have them). Let me reject your compliments in favor of the jokes. Because I cannot accept them when doing so will only make me break. I am not allowed to do that. It's the one think I won't allow myself to do.

I can't afford to break, stranger. Or... whatever you are. Not a stranger. Not just a friend, but not quite more yet, either. In-between, for now. I cannot afford to break for you. So if you want to call me out, you can feel so free. But please, please understand that I can't answer. I'm not ready. I'm too scared and I have far too much to lose.