I loved him. I love him still. But his lies coil inside me like an oily slick snake, making me sick. They say we're only as sick as our secrets, but what about the secrets of others? How do those affect us when they finally come out? My psyche feels fractured, my soul is scooped out. I can't think. I can barely exist. I let my dog out. I let my dog in. Reading his words from someone else's screen, the images burned into my retinas, but still I look back at the pictures. This man who told me he loved me repeatedly told someone else he didn't. Truth? Lies? Which is which? Who did he love? Neither? My god, my chest feels like it's caving in, and I can hardly breathe when I let myself linger in this emotion. Grief? I have always hidden from grief. She is too much to bear. I would rather feel anger, physical pain, or, best of all, nothing.
The urge to self harm comes quietly. It's sneaky. Kind of like betrayal. A problem to be solved. Kind of like me, if you believe what he wrote to her. Just a situation to be dealt with, nothing more.
I turn the feelings off.
Happy New Year to me.
No comments:
Post a Comment