Am I Coward?

I haven’t just lost trust...

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Sometimes I’m so sad… that I feel like a liar when I write.

This is new to me, I have to confess.

It’s been over a year of feeling like a conch shell with no echo, and I feel a lot of shame regarding this because I believe this to be “situational depression” and not clinical. By that I mean:

I know exactly what losses led to this… what fractures in belief that others would want to believe one another, or even meet for coffee because they know someone’s good intent… meaning in mouillage.

I haven’t just lost trust in most of that benefit of the doubt- hard earned (I thought) and equitably given hope in just some of the intent of another.

Maybe I’m just so needy and naive that if anyone… almost any one… gave me even an inch of rebuild: I’d run a mile.

I’ve always been a bit of a sucker for other humans in that way. It’s probably why I stayed for way too long in a past harmful relationship, and why I have a tendency to not see the Regina George repeated to me occasionally via others, in others, no matter how many warnings I get.

Am I coward?

Wanting to keep everyone close so no friction can occur? (An oxymoronic sentence on purpose.)

My best friends tell me often to have a back bone and… well, perhaps my sh*tty spine speaks for itself.

I can project why I’m scared of those who bite harder. Why feeling chosen by them makes us peddle twice as hard, even when they’re maybe not the right person to see you as you see them. Maybe we shouldn’t even care if someone who can’t see us anyways sees us- and therein lies the problem.

But… every time I post, I feel like a liar.

Does anyone know that feeling?

I can’t write about the real heartbreaks of my life right now, because I can’t even exist with them internally. If I sit too long by myself or watch too deep of a movie or stop chasing my tail in circles, smiling and pretending: I feel the suffocation internally compress.

I’ve always been an anxious neurotic type of person, not a depressed one… but it’s been a battle of caring to pretend to see the light at the end of any tunnel thats so cloaked in fake silver linings that I don’t even know when the “situational” is supposed to end if the situation may never do so.

It certainly can never be scar tissue shed.

Most of my body is scar tissue.

And I don’t have time to care about the trauma thats probably carried inside from that “on and on”, but I’m sure it is.

THANK YOU!