untitled #13

moksori
moksori
Sep 1, 2018 · 3 min read

“soooo, what are you doing?”

a text message from you.

how do i tell you that i’m laying in bed crying for the third time today?

the first was because i couldn’t cook an omelette,

the second was because i hate my body,

and the third was because i wish that i could say that despite all this sadness, i still want to see you.

i don’t want to see you.

let me rephrase.

i don’t want you to see me.

i am a shell of the girl you first met…

except that shell has gained 20 pounds and doesn’t really wear makeup anymore.

i don’t know how to talk to you without sounding fake, like each word is forced —

because each word IS forced, communicating at all takes all of my effort and willpower.

every time my phone chimes with a call or a text, i get a sharp shrill of panic in my chest because good god

i don’t want to have to speak, i don’t want to have to pretend i’m okay.

i go back and forth between being genuinely okay and being the type of sad you can’t describe.

i know you don’t want me to feel this way.

i know that me feeling this way will, in turn, make you feel this way.

and i don’t want that.

because i love you, i want to keep you away.

you don’t deserve this hollowed out girl.

i don’t want you to hold me while i cry because eventually i’ll start crying because i realize how fucking pathetic i am

and you’ll get tired of it and wonder how a person can cry for so long.

you tried to have sex with me a week ago and instead of passionate love-making,

i started passionately crying because i can’t stand the thought of my fat naked body on top of your beautiful one.

i couldn’t breathe and you wanted to know what was wrong but you have no idea how hard it is to tell the one that loves you that

you don’t love yourself.

i know you get annoyed with me when i don’t tell you how i feel but how can i?

i love you.

i’m afraid if you know how sad i am and how much self-hatred i contain,

you won’t love me.

you are my reason, my closest friend, my entire future.

that’s why every time you get annoyed with me

i have to try so hard not to start sobbing because

a little voice in the back of my head is saying that if you leave, i’ll have nothing

and if i have nothing then i may as well be dead.

because i already want to die, and i have something.

i can’t tell you that.

i can’t tell you that the other night when i left your house, i started sobbing heavily in my car and before i knew it i was shouting

“please let me die”

to a god that i don’t entirely believe in.

and that every time i saw a pole or a tree i thought of stomping on the gas and aiming for it,

but was too afraid that it wouldn’t kill me and all i’d be left with is a busted car and a lot of pity.

i don’t want you to think i’m crazy.

i already think i’m crazy.

this sadness will pass, it always does.

it’ll come back of course, it always does.

but how can i tell you?