Why Journal when you can just write “fiction”

With exactly one tile between each foot with every step she takes, from one wall to another she goes. There's a quiet buzz from her headphones as she paces. One deep breath after another, she names what she can see. "Floor. Chair. Brown chair. Wooden chair. Wooden table. Fake plant." she whispers as her breathing becomes more steady. Third person is always easier to take than being in the present I think. Observing yourself is so much easier to make a decision on what to do and how to act than it is reacting to the inner war of yourself. All he said was he forgot, I am perfectly fine.

"Good morning! Just here for some breakfast!" a guest says, headed straight to the coffee.

She musters up a small smile. "Good morning! How are you?" she asks, a little higher pitched than normal. Her eyes are still very green from the crying, but she wiped the tears off her face before the door alarm even went off.

"I'm great! How are you?" the guest hadn't even looked up from their breakfast.

"I'm good." She said, more matter of factly than originally intended but what can you do? Walking towards the back room to sit back down, she opened a message from him.

There he is, my sweet boy. Blowing me a kiss. "I love you" he said. I'm no longer sure if I believe him, evidently I don't think I ever really believed him. But the love I have for him runs inside my veins, so I say "I love you too baby".

I'm not sure if I was ever very lovable. As much as I cover up my wounds like a wall in a house that just keeps cracking as the foundation settles. Like somebody installed my flooring, but it's locking flooring and they didn't lock a single piece just glued it down and hoped to god it wouldn't come up. Like, the inside of my head looks like the biggest landlord special, just repaint everything white and pure and good and hope you don't see the bugs I painted over.

No no cant let the Council win like that. Let the doom scrolling begin. "Oh he'd think this is funny. Oh that's relatable. Repost! Oh my God that's so horrible I'm sending it." Soon enough all my friends inboxes are filled with memes and depression, just like me I think. I am nothing but memes and depression. The cringe covers the fact I don't want to live anymore. Nope nope too nihilistic need to fix that. Does anything I do really matter? Maybe my problem is I have no faith, I refuse to believe what I can't see. Who really knows? Maybe I'm just a lost cause or just a temporary person to show people they can be loved but love is not for me. I don't deserve love.

"NO" she loudly whispers, trying to regain control. The Council is strong, powerful, so many voices. A chorus of what's been said to her through the years of her life. The mixture of all the horrible things weighs her down daily. "You'll never get a boyfriend if..."

"Your existence ruined my life."

"I just feel like our relationship is a lost cause because you'll never forgive me"

"You're just a bully."

"You're the reason nobody likes you."

"If you could just drop the woe is me act you'd be more likeable and maybe actually have friends."

They get louder as they chant, all incoherent, all unsteady.

"He'll leave. They always do" The Council sneers as they collide, the voices do, appearing in a twisted blackened mass. "You're not worth loving and you know that. Prepare, prepare to leave so he can't hurt you my baby" It says, taking shape as a fully blacked out person. The silhouette haunts me. "It's okay my dear you're better with me. Just leave, come stay with us. We'll fix you right up" It says, as the cold empty hand strokes my hair. "We're not scary, we want whats best for you. When's the last time you were selfish? What about your needs? You know he can't meet your needs, no one can. No one can but us." it continues, almost like a mother. "I know best I do. You need us more than you need anyone else. Just come with me my darling, we'll make it all better don't you worry" She nods as the tears flow down her face, going to the back of her mind.

Outwardly, the anger, the rage, it floods. She's typing, furiously, "Go date someone you actually like. I'm not the one, not the one you want. If I was, you wouldn't do these things."

She's still in there. Fighting. Screaming. "Don't hurt him please don't hurt him he doesn't deserve this it's all me I'm the problem please just don't hurt him!" She watches the screen, sees what's happening, absolutely powerless to stop it. They've tied her down, little her, just to watch as the chaos unfolds.

She blocks him, doesn't speak, doesn't anything. No not this time. He won't hurt me this time. No more hurt for me. Just the anger is all that's there. Pure fire in her eyes.

No response. From him. He left me on read. HE LEFT ME ON READ? How dare he ignore us? How dare he act like there's nothing to take accountability for? WHY CAN'T THEY JUST APOLOGIZE FOR HURTING ME?

Then the guilt. The burning guilt. She had broken free and shoved them all down in the basement. Pulled them down the stairs and locked the door. That stupid, flimsy, door. She's tired, scrambling her way up the stairs again. They really should put an elevator in this building. All that's left is the guilt. The pieces to pick up. "I'm sorry" she types "I'm sorry I don't know why this hurts me so much. Please don't leave I need you."

As any sane man does, he will eventually leave. And she'll eventually accept that it is too much for her, too much for anyone to stomach no matter how understanding they claim to be. All she can do is hope and try to change her demons, but they live inside her and are locked in to a mortgage at this point.