Being Alive

It's weird you know, I sit here ready to write my heart out, ready to pour everything I am into this and then my brain just, stops. I feel it pull back like a hand near a hot stove. I feel the words slam into the barrier they built themselves, like weird cannibalistic beavers trying to stop the river.

I think I'm worried that people might judge me for the things I might say. Worried they won't care either. I suppose if they don't care then it doesn't really matter but at the heart of it isn't that what being alive is partly about? Being cared for? Being understood?

I'm sat here, writing this, full of thoughts and feelings, like a surge of hellfire burning within me. A firehose knotted and tangled being the only way out.

I miss my friends. Ok no, rewind. I miss a very specific friend. A friend I can talk to at any time. A friend I can tell anything, did tell anything. Nothing changed. I went to her wedding for god's sake. I just. I don't know some part of me is worried that her seeing me in person somehow killed her desire to be my friend. I know it's not true. I know she cares about me, and I her.

I feel consistently useless, like at any moment any person I talk to is gonna drop out of my life and leave me alone. I fear I have no defence against this. Only to panic and feel like I need to say yes. I need to keep fighting and making myself useful somehow. I need to be someone people can rely on.

In reality I'm a scared little girl in constant need of reassurance. Someone too scared to say any of this in a message to anyone I consider a friend. Scared to be a burden. Scared to be alive around them.

I don't have any answer for this. Any grand revelation coming. I just have a ramble of words. The water the bones of the beavers let through.

contact me!: luna@soup3461.com

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