Broken

Do you know what broken is? Broken is when a word, a phrase, an action that might seem mundane suddenly triggers you and you have the instinct to either jump and gutted the person, or to roll up into the fetal position in fear. I don't know the right clinical name for it.

What I do know it sucks to see myself descending to the darkness once again. When I start to black out and my mood swings rocking harder than a pendulum in the storm. When I know I slowly lost control of my emotion and awash in my grim Neverland.

You won't see it because a part of me told me to "Stand still. Smile. Don't let them know." Because people run away when they see negativity. It's natural. Not many have the resilience to deal with that shit. Because I am strong enough to withstand the storm.

At least that's what I said. Off to a date. Then another. House has his painkillers and I have mine. Ride the storm quietly in an extravagant manner so no one will suspect you are drowning inside. The world only needs to see Selina Kyle, not her sorry story.

But you are tortured inside. The moment love seemed to come through you'd lap it up like a man stranded in the desert, wishing fervently that it is real. The moment when there's even the slightest chance that the love is not real, is not equal, up goes the wall like the castle bridge being pulled up.

You give a breath of relief when it didn't work. It shouldn't work, anyway. You are too broken. You shed tears and feel sad when it's over, but you know it's also over because you killed them as Atalanta did to the suitors that lost a race with her. 

You just got off the phone with your building manager. You told him a neighbor cat was on the roof and couldn't get out, and can he please help the cat. He laughed and said they already did. You know you are a good girl. You know people love you. But not enough to keep you.

You know you'll eventually cool down and be happy again, but it won't be the end. The panic attack, the blinding fear, the hands that will go up to protect your broken little soul while sobbing: "No! Please don't hurt me!" Those will come and go as they please.

"Get help." I am trying to. "Forget him." I already did. "Let him go." I thought I have moved on already. Stick and stones may hurt my bones, but apparently words decapacitate me emotionally. Isn't love grand?