I Would Rather Be In Bed

I wish you knew what it was like to be inside my skin. I wish I could begin to explain it to you. It’s not fair to say that I come with a label that asks you to handle me gently. This mind and body is filled with so many cracks and bruises, it’s liable to fall apart at any time, you see. But really, how can that possibly be a problem for you put tape on and super glue together.

There isn’t really a way for me to explain all this madness flowing so freely through my veins. It’s filtered in through all the cells inside my body, taunting me as if to say it’s fully infiltrated every sector and I will never be free of it. I wish you could feel this knot inside my chest that never completely loosens, that never lets go, that never lets me take a deep sigh of relief. I must always be ready, be on guard, for the next storm to rage.

I wish that I could give you my eyes when I look at you and my heart when I think of your name because my heavens…how it beats for you. There isn’t a minute of time that passes on this earth that isn’t soaked in your essence all around me in some way since the moment I saw those eyes that first time. I wish you could feel the shift in the air the minute you enter the room and the tension that lingers around me, an ever present companion of mine, dissipates.

It sounds like an absolutely ridiculous thing to say then, doesn’t it, that suddenly, for no reason at all, every atom in my body will decide you suddenly loathe me, and never want to speak to me again. It sounds ridiculous, it is ridiculous. My mind, however, has made it’s decision, and I can’t flip that switch back off without sufficient evidence to the contrary. The anxiety creeps in, my chest tightens, and the fidgeting begins. My mind, never still, in turmoil. My hands shake. I can feel my heart racing.

It’s those moments, the moments of panic, raging over what the tiny rational voice squeaking it’s truth, trying so hard to be heard, that I wish… I wish you could understand…

I wish you could understand how hard I fight to control that feeling. The war I wage to shove that panic all down right back into it’s cage. I wish you knew that over the loud, racing, clanging irrational noise in my head I try so hard to listen to the tiny voice in my head trying to tell me that this THIS is absolute nonsense. My god, I try. Sometimes I win. A lot of times the much louder voice telling me that I am terrible and I deserve nothing and I’m going to lose you wins.

I know that insecurity is frustrating. Exasperating. Exhausting.

My dear, it is for me too. Believe me, I’ve fought through six hurricanes you don’t even know about before I slip up and it slips out and I just need a reassurance. As I write this now my eyes are closing from the exhaustion of a mental battle I’ve been fighting all day. Do you hate me? Am I ruining all this? Why can’t I just get it together and stop acting like an idiot? Stop saying that. Stop being this way. Stop. Stop. Stop. I already know. But do you hate me? Am I ruining all this? Why am I such a pain in the ass? You don’t deserve this. This is such a pain. No one deserves this. I deserve to be alone forever.

Storms weathered. Exhaustion. Achieved. Still, my mind swirls in an endless chaos.

It is difficult and painful to love someone like me. Making you question yourself. It’s tiring. It’s an endless trial in patience. Your lips could be pressed to mine, hand wrapped up in my hair, arm around my waist, and still my mind may be asking me what it really means.

I wish, with every fiber of my soul, that I knew how to fix what is broken inside me. To give you a whole and perfect human. To bleed this toxin from my veins.

If it’s any consolation to you, this extreme fear of losing you, to not mess up would not exist, without an extreme love. Without the acknowledgement that my soul recognizes yours as my best friend and my partner in this life. I haven’t learned how to manage the fear of losing that yet. I’ve lost so many things, you see. Losing you, well, it’s not something I want to experience.

Asking you to handle me with gentle hands, that’s not quite fair. Not when mine are gripped so tightly. But if that heart of yours could hold just a bit of patience for bruised up, trembling heart like mine that loves you more than this universe could ever contain…

Perhaps I’ll ask you anyways…to be gentle, when I am weathering a storm I can’t contain, until I manage to find a way to keep the rain away for good.