Emotional Abyss
I said that I’d never cry for you. I’ve been fucked over too many times for that. I don’t know if I’ve even told you how fucked up things really are. I guess it’s too early to tell you all the baggage I come with. Though to be honest, with us, if it isn’t too early then it’s too late. We can’t get to know each other enough to delve into the weird psychological problems that I have, and I know that you must have, because everyone does to some extent. We just don’t have time for that. I can’t let you see it all, I can’t let anyone see it all, the abyss is just too steep, too dark, there isn’t any going back after that.
I’m not crying over you. I’m crying over everything else. My patheticness, the way we all pretend that we’re people we aren’t. You can’t lie to people unless you fully believe the lies yourself. And I believe my lies, if only for the time that I’m saying them. But sometimes I believe them for longer than that. I believe them until someone suddenly wakes me up, confronts me with the truth. And then I’m standing on the abyss again, knowing that it’s going to be there forever and there isn’t anything I, or anyone, can do about it.
I don’t want you to tell me I’m a psycho. I don’t want you to scream at me in frustration, I don’t want you to see what’s under my mask. I know what happens to people who see beneath the mask, they retain a little bit of the madness. I don’t mean my mask, anyone’s mask. You just physically cannot see into someone’s soul that far. The key to making a relationship work is to bare your soul to someone, but to still be able to keep your secrets, the big ones. If someone knew all the secrets it wouldn’t work, there would be too much to come back from.
But I won’t let you lie to me either. Don’t tell me that everything is okay, or that I’m over reacting. Don’t expect me to listen to you if you tell me one thing, then tell me another five minutes later. Don’t ignore me in the hope that when you next see me I’ll have calmed down. I don’t work like that, I get angrier, and then I get livid, and finally, when all my energy has gone, I don’t care. But if I don’t care then you’ll never find a way to make me care again. Or maybe you will, who knows? I forgave my mother after eight years, I can always learn to forgive you. But she’s my mom, I don’t know if the situations are similar enough. And eight years is a while.
I won’t ask for commitment. I won’t tell you that I’m too pissed off to have sex. I won’t listen when people tell me that you’re not good enough for me, or that you’re an arrogant bastard. I won’t cheat, and I won’t lie to you about anything that matters. But I can’t tell you all my secrets, and I can’t wait forever for you to explain. And if you make me cry over you, then I’m sorry, there’s nothing you can do to fix it.
Labels: Demons, Falling, Introspection
