I Think I Think Too Much
My mental fortitude is very weak. At certain times I find myself running several scenarios, many possibilities, outcomes to an event. My curiosity leads me to strange places. My fear leads me to dark places. In the past I was better with this habit. I could take note, and store it in my mind for later. I could compartmentalize. I no longer can.
I have so much more emotion than I did before, it bursts forth like an ocean wave and envelopes me. It overwhelms me. I try to find new ways to cope with how I feel, and for a moment it helps, but often it fails me - and I breakdown.
I breakdown and allow my emotions to engulf me, to drive this vessel from task to task. It is no surprise then that I found myself in a bathtub screaming out and asking questions I know would not receive responses.
If you haven’t guessed it by now, I’m writing to you, my arsonist. So beautiful and kind. Affectionate. Strong, but at your core - deeply hurting. A pain that I understand. Not the same pain, nor the same experience. I’m guilty of nearly being the perpetrator of that pain to others. But we understand each other’s pain, more-so than any other.
I do not know what happened to you. I don’t know if you willingly left my life. But I know that I cannot get you out of my head, I think of things that I wish I had done differently - things I wish I hadn’t said, and things I wish I had. I wish I could’ve heard your voice more. I wish I had called you that night.
With my mental breakdown having come and passed, I’ve been reassured by others that it would not be in your character to disappear as you have. I wanted to trust that advice. To believe that it was true. But I know it’s not.
I am now sure that you are gone. I will rest in this fact, and am at peace with it. Strangely I no longer feel a thing. I cried my tears of fire as you denied me, I fell victim to your words, and as I have no more blood left to spill - I am at peace. That part of of me is buried, out of reach.
Embrace atrophy.