I decide for my emotions.
Friends are not something to be expected.
This is not what I would call a friendship, where one just criticises you for something they just don’t understand: and in such a way!
This is not how you tell things, cause only if you know you are flawless you can allow yourself to such a criticism, who has all the good intentions, but that is expressed in the wrongest way possible.
How do you dare judge when you’re the first to be wrong? How do you dare assume and criticise when you know nothing or refuse to acknowledge something just because you can’t understand it? It’s sick, and this is not friendship. Friendship is to accept, not to try to change. This is just the highest and purest form of arrogance.
What do they know about pain? What do they know about the strongest desperation that leaves you drained to the point you can feel your organs melt? What do they know about standing on the fence of the balcony with a note left on the table? What do they know about feelings, when all they do is repress them? What do they know when the deepest cry they had has been caused by their siblings acting like jerks? What do they know about suddenly pondering “what if i don’t come up to the surface of the swimming pool and just let me drown”? What do they know about the strongest urge to swallow three tablets per box of drugs and having to chat on a helpline to resist it? What do they know about this kind of pain? And why, why would i have to feel childish because of the strength of my emotions? One’s not fucking untouchable.
One feels and should let themselves feel. What the fuck is wrong with this? And then, during conversations, they come at me claiming how wrong society is to impose us not to show and deal with our emotions?! Society my ass!
They’re the first to be bound to this.
It’s not about maturity. Everyone has their own way, and you don’t know what can make it worse.
Do you know about the blood coming out of your wrists? No, you don’t.
Do you know of the deepest cold one could feel in their bones without being able to warm themselves up after putting on again the fifth sheet? No, you don’t.
Do you know about not even being able to stand still without leaning to a wall after more that 53 hours of fast? No, you don’t.
Do you know the persistent feeling of being startled? No, you don’t.
Do you know about the never-ending nightmares? No, you don’t.
Do you know the draining aftermath of a cry? Do you know what it feels like not to be able to move for the following day and being endlessly tired for the two that will follow? No, you don’t.
Do you know about the flashbacks? No, you don’t.
About all the unwanted memories, the limitations, the frustration of being so? Do you understand all the anger, the resentment? Do you understand and feel and know what happened? Where you there, and were you me? No, you don’t.
So at least have the damn decency to shut the fuck up and stop imposing to everyone your own way to “deal” (or better “ignore” your feeling. Just because you’ve never felt the deepest sorrow and you never had to deal with it, it doesn’t mean you should feel entitled to tell others how to live their emotional life. You don’t know a thing about devastating negative emotion, so close your damn mouth. Because it’s not about bearing and dealing with an annoying brother here.
It’s fighting and striving to surviving.
