There are calluses over my fingers, scabs which have formed, as a result of my fingers picking at my skin. Pulling the hangnails, and pushing back the cuticles, exposing the thin strip of muscle at the edge of each fingernail.
My teeth gnaw on my lower lip, biting them until they bleed. It hurts a lot.
Because, I worry a lot. They say, I’m overthinking. But, I’m not. It’s just how my brain is wired. One thought leads to another, having no connection with each other.
Can’t help it.
Then the paranoia settles in.
Will they abandon me? Will they hate me? Will they support me?
These questions swirl in my mind, gaining momentum until they snowball into a full blown panic attack. My palms become sweaty.
My heartbeat start to skyrocket.My breathing becomes erratic. It’s as if I’m trapped in a room, and I’m claustrophobic and I can’t get out. I keep on pacing. I keep on scratching at the walls. I keep on calling out for help,
But my voice cannot be heard over the facade of false smiles. They say that silence is the most defeating scream of them all.
Have they heard the screams then?
Screams convey so much more than silences.
They’re much more poignant and get the work done faster than simple silence.
The lambs were silent as well;
They were killed in the end, weren’t they?
Much good it to them.
I told you, my thoughts are not interconnected. So I’m jumping from one topic to another. With bad transitions between them. They’re fragmented and jagged pieces of emotions; shards so sharp you could splice open your finger open on them.
I wonder, how many times I need to show the world that I’m not okay. They ask for proof.
They see the scars.They see the attacks. They see the tears. But do not acknowledge it.
How much more do they need or I need to convey that I may look like a tree, and I might act as if I’m unbreakable. In reality, I’m just reducing myself to branches of that tree, which has slowly been rotting to death.
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