“There is this great pain in my chest. Not physical, not now, but still something heavy; it feels sharp, yet too dull to say that I am truly suffering. It is this never-ending ache, tearing me apart from the inside out, but I do not think that it has quite reached the outside yet.
I do not think that it is obvious to everyone else, but still, I am not sure how good I have ever been at hiding things. I thought that if I could convince myself there was no hurt, no… rot, that no one else would see it. I did not want to look inside myself.
But I am rotting, aren’t I? And it is creeping out of me, slow and vile, betraying all that I am meant to be.
I think that they are all going to hate me one day. And those that don’t will remain out of stubbornness, or a sense of duty, just as I do, as is my purpose, remaining for them. Those that do not resent me or abandon me will grow weary, and I will make them sick. I will be something to escape from. Maybe I already am.
I won’t leave you, I say, I will stay, no matter what you say or do. But what if you go? It is not unheard of. Would you do it again? What makes this time different? Am I just keeping you trapped here for my own sake? And how unfair of me to do so, when the thought crosses my own mind. What if I were the one to leave?
All these things that I begged of you just for me to become you, to feel this pull towards the very same act that tore me to pieces before. I couldn’t understand how you could ever do it, not then… but I think that I am beginning to understand now. It terrifies me.
I think that I am broken. I won’t leave, I can’t, so why would I even dream of it? What’s wrong with me? Isn’t it selfish? Am I going to be just like you? Haven’t we learned? Haven’t I learned?
The guilt of it is all-consuming. I don’t want to feel like this. Where is that hope that we promised one another? How could I let go?”
