A voicemail I never replied to pokes me hard in the ribs, when I sink for too long into reality.
Languish in the mush that exists in my head...
I didn't forget. I wanted to answer. But I put it off, tomorrow...tomorrow.
The tomorrow where everything I need to do will be done, never comes.
Where everything I wish to say could be said.
Only ever half the truth. That's more than I even feel is safe to share.
"Everything is good, I don't really know why I'm here..."
The desperately booked appointment with the psychotherapist I hadn't seen in two years...
My grip feels weak, I want to let everything I have built go
Watch it crash and splinter.
"I knew it, I knew goodness couldn't last...everything breaks and you always fall"
Tightly I close my eyes.
I know the voice is that of fear, not of evil.
I do not breed destruction. But, I carry cruel habits.
I love without condition, all but myself.
I'm a fucking dick to myself.
I sit, going through happenings...things that I take.
Accept, swallow down without much question.
I twirl us around- look at it all from the other or the outside.
"I don't know how to stop falling into my own traps, taking myself into danger"
"Do I need to be less than I am?..." ..."is it only self respect?"
Respect... So much of what has hurt me lately has been due to a lack of respect.
My gut wrenches. How far I have come, and yet I still starve myself of the consideration
I extend unquestioningly to anyone else.
As though, I were the devil.
What respect does the devil earn?
Where did all this darkness in me come from.
Why does it seep out only to refill.
How do I keep myself safe from my own weapons.
I should probably reply to that voicemail.