There Must Be More Than Blood
I’ve spent my entire life looking at the blank-slate wall behind my bed. The goalpost has moved now, my bed placed in the middle of the room with empty space on all sides, and now I have no idea where to look. I could keep looking at the wall, but it seems so far away now that continuing to look back at it feels like a waste of time. I could look out the window but I feel like i’d get lost in everything outside of it. If there are infinite possibilities for what happens outside the window then how could anyone feel safe letting themselves look? I feel far away from everything now, bringing myself up on a life worth living.
I’m the other person in an empty room. I think that’s the only way I can take myself seriously, by imagining it happens to somebody else (see: somebody worthy of sympathy) and letting myself separate the pain from my own body. I think a lot more topics trigger me into ptsd episodes than i’d like to admit and it makes me look like an idiot every day. I don’t know how to heal from triggers other than desensitising myself to them which is a long and annoying process for everybody around me where I get much, much worse before I get better. I honestly don’t think I want to subject anybody to seeing me like that anymore, I feel too grown, so I’m stuck in a sort of limbo where I can’t make any growth and keep reverting back. I’ll suck it up eventually and submit to the shame of the process but Jesus I wish there were an easier way because I hate being seen at anything worse than an exaggeration of my best