v u l v a l i c i o u s
you can't hate me as much as i hate myself. nobody can. i am driving down the street and looking at every telephone pole, imagining turning the wheel hard and slamming into them one by one.
not that i would. i won't ever hate anything that much. there is also the notion, stuck to the bottom of my mind, that i wouldn't actually go through with it and would instead end up with a wrecked car and a broken arm and a bunch of people standing around saying, "we never realized anything was wrong."
i don't know how good i am at the lies i tell, but i must be good enough. i am a mess of fault lines and chips and broken off pieces, but i feel like it's invisible. like i am being seen through a fog that i've created, and the fog lets me appear more whole than i really am.
and sitting around the table tonight i felt like i was 9 years old. i had to fix everything, hold everyone together. i hate that feeling. i hate that it holds me so tight and won't let go until i've created a distraction: quick, tell a story! sing a song! make a joke! (and i do)
it's so much a part of me that it's hard to realize that it's not always me.
but i'm not fine. i'm not ok. i'm not happy or doing well. i'm sad and i'm lonely and i'm hurting, and none of this is helping.