"It's going to be okay," you say once again.
"I hope so," I whisper, not wanting to burst your
bubble, playing along with this petty little game we have
going. Maybe you think if you say it enough, it was finally
come true and I will magically be less fúcked up
in the head. Then maybe loving me won't be so damn hard.
That's what you want, don't you? You want me to be
normal, you want me to get better so you can feel like a
better person. So you can think, "Hey, see? I did
something good." Like I'm so pathetic charity case.
Who am I to burst you perfect little bubble? Who am I to say,
"You know what, no, it's not going to be okay. It
never has been okay, and it never will be okay." Because
I'm not you, I'm not strong and I can't get
better. So, here I go again, I'll play along.
"I'm fine," I say once again. "Don't
worry about me," I mutter. The same lines as always, and
you get to go to bed with a clear conscience, thinking that
you did a good deed by putting up with someone like me.
That's how this all works, right?
0
reply
✖︎whatever✖︎* · 1 decade ago
0
reply
This is amazing… did you write it?