sometimes I just have to talk

God I hate taking one step forward and letting myself be vulnerable with people I know and they react slightly negatively and I take 1000 steps back. Ig you aren't getting the privilege of getting to know me authentically anymore.

Like nothing else compares to being perceived as being broken by past trauma and then being regarded as wrong and weird. I can't even really blame people for reacting negatively to my ptsd responses, because hell I know they're irrational and stupid. But do you need to look at me like you learned too much about me and somehow this one interaction reflects who I am as a person?

Like why bother putting in the effort at all to maintain relationships and friendships? They will get to know me and then they will flinch. It's inevitable. And I can see it happening. You don't even try to hide your disgust. How do people accept people despite their flaws? How does that feel? I'm tired of being a person while simultaneously feeling like damaged goods.

Just pieces of a foundation crumbling into the sea. It's just a way of life. It soothes the aches.

Lately, I feel as if I'm constantly dangling over a precipice. I'm so fucking tired. Everything is wearing on me, and I can't rely on anyone I know. I have to shoulder this burden alone.

My family won't stop talking to the person who damaged me beyond repair. I cried to them, reasoned with them, begged them. But still, for someone else they place more weight. I was never even given the choice to heal.

My friends are disappearing one by one. The ones who are left are the ones who I never opened up to. I may take that as a sign. How do you make friends again? It's so exhausting.

All of my life I have been struggling to get by. My parents scraping up the money to feed their children. Dad was let go and we lived off food stamps during the recession. (People hated the ones like us.)  I was barely old enough to remember but I can still picture vividly my mother crying while she drove my father around for interviews.

And we were the lucky ones. We had a car that didn’t break down. We had grandparents that were able to take the kids if it came down to it. No one was exuberantly wealthy, but they were comfortable. Because for us it wasn’t about becoming rich, it was about becoming comfortable enough to breathe. To be able to bake. To buy new clothes to call your own. To go to a restaurant and buy a burger and fries.

You will never know poverty until you understand how much food is considered a privilege. To grow it requires funding and space. Little tomato plants in your windowsill will not feed a family. Tending to crops requires you to be able to tend them when the sun is up.

And when your safety net is cut away, food is too. So is your pride. If you are sent to the streets, you cannot afford to be proud. People will scoff at you if you are visible, will hate you for asking for loose change. They disavow your attempts to get a burger and fries, because suddenly they know your character. They “know” that you will only spend it on a beer or drugs. Because you can buy either of those with $1.50 in quarters. You can’t even buy a burger.

I want to be the kind of person that is kind and asks people if they're ok. I want to listen to strangers and befriend the homeless. I want to give second chances. I want to make strangers smile. I want everyone I ever meet, however brief, to know that I love them. I want my friends and family to feel accepted and warm around me. I want people to know I will defend them if they are being hurt. That I will fight tooth and nail so they can be heard. I want the loners to know that they aren't alone. I want to fight for the right thing no matter what.