April 23, 2012
Empty Words

submitted by jolismots 

"I know how you feel." 

How can you comprehend all of the things I’m feeling, distill and analyze the pieces, then proceed to tell me what I am?
How do you know, when I don’t? Because here’s all I have so far:

It’s that feeling, when you’re walking up a staircase breathing heavily and heavily burdened, and you miss a step. Miss one step, and then your heart skips a beat and your foot fumbles for the lost stability and your muscles clench and the world is spinning but really it’s just you stumbling because you can’t handle your surroundings.
It’s the simultaneous realization, that everyone hates you but no one cares. Or that all of this might be in your head.
It’s shutting down your brain, your body, your heart if you could just to make it all stop.
It’s being trapped in your kinetic paralysis as you go through the motions.
It’s the deadly tingling numbness that spreads from your fingertips and toes towards your heart.
It’s playing a constant game, would-I-pull-the-trigger, would-I-step-in-front-of-a-bus, I-could-do-it-if-I-wanted, I-could-do-it-right-now, I-want-to-but-I-can’t, I-can-but-I-don’t-want-to.
It’s fielding questions, “are you okay?” “why won’t you go to class?” “but you had so much potential” and trying not to let on that those questions are old friends.

It’s hating yourself as you type up some shitty list just to make yourself feel better, to keep yourself from attempting suicide in the English building bathroom.
It’s hating yourself for being a stereotype.
It’s hating yourself for hating yourself.

"I know why you do this — I’ve read a lot of books on the subject."

So why does no one know what to say?