my therapist tells me that my finger guns are a sign of avoidance, i ramble for 15 minutes about a neurodivergence study. i laugh and tell her she’s the kind of person who would call her dog a fur baby, she jokes about calling her actual children skin puppies. i tell her it’s been so long since i have made someone smile that i almost forgot about that part of me. i express that i have this way of fragmenting when i feel neglected or unwanted, in a way i pursue how i feel. isolating, removing myself from people and things - and i tell myself that i’m doing myself justice. taking care of me for once, being all that i need. i am saying what i mean, feelings pulled out of my chest, a red thread dripping blood onto the carpet. the shoulders of others do not know how to carry my thoughts, my pain calcified and ancient.
someone once told me that problems are forever, it's just something you go through as life progresses. i've always found it correct and comforting. if problems are forever i don't have to attach meaning to every single one. i don’t have to wear myself out trying to swallow down the pill of what happened. there's a way to ruin anything, i taught myself that painful lesson. there's always something to remember and always a new part to the line you've written. i can’t even fathom the idea of someone choosing to see me, to take their time in knowing me. moving from their own curiosity to understand my demeanor, my personality and my character. i want to feel skin on skin, ripples forming around my tongue like i dipped a single finger in soda. i just want to feel wanted, i want sands of despair to slip out of the ridges of my palms. to have them be replaced with something i can hold at night, to feel that slow burn into a soft life. but anyway….
