Table Tears

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It’s a moment of screaming silence. Your mind begins to scream as loud as your voice won’t let you. The turning in your stomach is going at the same rate as the thoughts dancing in circles around you. The world is spinning, and you are completely and utterly alone.


Your hands, they sweat from the pressure. You are failing at your job. You can’t ever be normal. No one likes you. You are going to mess up. Don’t say that. Don’t look at her. Keep your mouth shut. Who cares what you think? Your hair is too thick. Your face is too red. Your body is ugly. You aren’t pretty enough. Who even walks like that? What the hell are you writing for? No one cares about this. Those scars you carry, they’re reminders of every time you have failed. What if it happens again? Just stay in bed. That’s the best place for you to be, away from the world. Don’t call anyone. They won’t care. You’re only annoying them. This is all you have ever known.

You even start to question whether or not the people who read your writing care, like you’re a nuisance. You begin to rethink the purpose of why you started to write in the first place. It’s a safe zone. You can only share if you want it to be known.

So, here you are writing about how writing about this is annoying and crying while doing it because you simply can’t control when it hits. It’s a wonder you never want to leave your comfort zone. People tell you that there is nothing to be upset about. You’re engaged, you’re life is easy. Getting engaged doesn’t take away the prison of a mind that you carry. It simply means you will never be alone. Having a best friend doesn’t magically heal you of a mental illness. Why are you so upset? That’s the one question you will never be able to answer because even you don’t know.

And, you never will.


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