Lies and Secrets in My Fucking Feelings

I made this secret place for myself, a diary, but then I made it public. I don’t tell people about it so I assume they don’t know. Maybe some people have been clever enough to find it. It’s possible. I don’t know how many people or who. I’m not sure who would take the time to read my diary anyway.

People sometimes say they want to know my secrets. I’m not entirely sure I have any. Maybe I have a large comfort zone or maybe I’m just uninteresting. People probably think I’m lieing about that. Perhaps they think if I can talk so freely about things that are normally kept private that my real secrets must be sinister. What a silly notion.

I’m a mostly honest person. There’s one thing I do lie about alot though.

My feelings.

Seems so simple a thing. I tell people I’m fine when I’m falling the fuck apart. I smile and say ‘I’m just tired.’ or “I’m just stressed.’ I don’t want people to worry. There isn’t much they can do anyway. It’s nice when people know me well enough to know I’m not doing well and try to do little things to cheer me up. I hide well though. Even my best friends can’t really tell. Why? They don’t spend much time in my castle.

If you walked into my home you’d see how the dishes never get done and the same mess that was there a couple of months ago is still there because I can’t find the energy or motivation to do anything about it. The dog is being neglected. He needs to go. The house wreaks. Things are piled up and here I sit, surrounded by unfinished projects and festivities that I usually enjoy that now hold no interest for me. I make very little effort to be around people anymore…

Sometimes they ask, ‘what you thinking about?’ I lie about that too. I say, ‘nothing.’ or ‘I don’t know.’ Can’t say what it really is. It’s always the same:

J.

It’s always you.
I wonder if you are okay.
Hoping you are happy.
Wishing I could talk to you.
Wishing I could see your smile.
Sometimes just your voice
Holds my world together for a while.

But my brain is a time bomb.
It’s unhealthy.
I know.
To always be thinking about you and worrying when I know full well there is nothing I can do. Can’t help you. Can’t fix it. Can’t stop thinking about it. I’m not sure if I’m glad to remember these things. I guess at the least I’m not in the dark anymore.

Amnesia.

It’s a fucked up thing. It helps ease the pain. But then there’s....
Headaches.
Tears that seem to have come from no where.
Strange reactions:
To a song.
To a name.
To little things.
There’s dreams of you,
So comforting they used to be.
I wish I could make the dreams come.
Just to see you every night.
I wish they would come true.
You never understood.

I always loved you.

Never wanted to hurt you.
But she said, ‘too late.’ And suddenly my heart was shattered.
How could I know you didn’t mean to hurt me? When you did such a great job of it?

Too late.
I need to stop thinking about it, but I can find no way. How do I soothe the throbbing in my head. My world is on repeat.

She told you to be the best. So you made yourself better than all the rest. What else could you do? For her.

I wasn’t there for you. So now I’m there for everyone else. It’s the best I can do. For you. Can’t turn back time. Can’t save you. But I can save the rest. I do everything I can. I try so hard. Because maybe no one else will. It’s not that I drive them to it. Not at all. The suicidal ones surround me because I’m the one who’s still there. I have to be. For you. J. It’s all I can do.

I miss you.
Loving you is my dark secret.
The one everyone’s been looking for.
My biggest weakness.
It’s you.
It’s always been you.
Mi amour.