So what do you say when your brain says the words don’t make sense in the only order you can put them?

You say nothing, or scream really loudly.

I stopped screaming years ago, the attention you get is never of the kind that you want.

Perhaps I should draw instead of doing nothing as well as saying nothing. I do not know, my hands won’t move the way I am used to, and my heart no longer shows me things to make that will get the pain out. Dreams are not helping, for despite their alloure and the comfort I find in them, they are horrible, as they always are when I am this tired. Although if you asked me how tired this tired is, I could not give you a straight answer for the life of me. I take pleasure in the little things now, and attempt, (although I don’t have to try too hard) to forget the rest. After all, my mind is barely more than a tenth of what it used to be. I enjoy how my newest pair of gloves fit my fingers like an extra layer of skin, and how this state of discomfort surprisingly feels somewhat euphoric. I have anemia, and currently my blood pressure is far too low, so even when I sit my head doesn’t quite work as it should, but surprisingly, as long as I keep myself relatively still, it isn’t so bad.

On another note, do you know what you like? Of what? Do you know what clothes you like? What food you like? What music, films, books or art?

I don’t. Never had the chance to find out. All I know is what hurts, what doesn’t hurt, what hurts in a familiar way; so as to be comforting, and what hurts in a familiar way that makes me hate so strongly I barely see the difference between family and rapists. Wait, there is no difference. At least there wasn’t, and for some reason the rest of them can’t seem to tell that that’s all I’ve ever seen. Family has never meant friends, comfort or affection. It has meant pain, lies, and horror. It’s hard to look at them and know that if any of them had just not tried to suffer it anymore, it would not have ruined my life so much, but I try. I try, just like I always do, and in the process I shut myself off, and decide, for the umpteenth time, that family isn’t blood, it’s companionship, respect, understanding and care. Nothing less, nothing more. No obligations other than those four, and no need to forgive anything less.

Ah, this turned into a rant. Well well. It is what it is.


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