Tuesday, December 18, 2018


It was 5:16 AM when I wanted to get as far away from you as possible. Sitting there and listening to the gentle sound of your breathing was hurting me. I'd never felt that kind of pain before. I was kind of shell-shocked because up until that night, I didn't think you could hurt me. That's reason one for not leaving. Reason two? I didn't think you would come after me.

And being proven right would have shattered me.

It's important that you know this: people with brains like mine should never be given space. Solitude only encourages my insecurities to speak more eloquently, gives them time to convince me that every unheard statement and forgotten memory is a sign of your indifference. Every time I ask for space, I'm testing you. Why do you always fail me?

I know it's not fair. I'm sorry. Just please stop saying that you know me. Because if you really knew me, you wouldn't put me through this over and over again. If you really knew me, this would be impossibly cruel of you. And because I can't be persuaded of your malice, I'm persuaded of your indifference. I'm certain that's worse.

It hurts. It hurts so much. I need more. If you can't give more, I understand. But I guess that means... Well, I don't like what that means.

*     *     *

I wrote and posted this two weeks ago on one of those nights where I was just feeling terrible and overthinking everything, but the next morning I woke up feeling fine. In my drastically different mental state, it felt overdramatic having this up, so I took it down. But now that some time has passed, I realize that even though I was feeling dramatic, this came from a very real place. I'm working on transparency and vulnerability, so posting this feels like a good baby step.

<Lucy Cartin

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