Call it a neurotic obsession that has brought me to a new low, making me dysfunctional, making me question my every judgement thus far. But veiling the truth, locking it up and tossing the key didn’t help, since the key itself was never actually tossed, but put away out of my everyday reach, hidden in just enough distance from me that made it quite easy to find again, making me able to rummage through the box that the key had originally locked up over and over when my patience saw its end.
Avoidance didn’t bring any sort of liberation, let alone finality. Just like the bitter aftertaste of bad coffee that stays in your mouth, even after plenty attempts of washing it away by gulping down glasses and glasses of water. No matter how hard I try to repress it, it keeps coming back like the itch on your back that’s just out of reach to relieve. I’m left in frustration and despair, regretting my naivety to even have had any hope in the first place, since to others, it was nothing but a joke.
. . .
It wasn’t the physical damage that hurt the most.
It was those words that came out of the mockingly calm, smiling face that so easily told me to “give up” that made me see the worst in it all.
I’m not okay.