1

You spend most of your time staring at your fingernails, chipped and scratched blue nail polish on clean pink, varying lengths because stress drives you to gnaw at yourself. The inside of your mouth and lips is bitten raw, the evidence of many snatched back words. Not one single person could understand how low you feel, every single day. They've never had everything taken away from them. They've never had everybody turn against them again, and again. They put it down as spiteful negativity, nothing more than a stroppy teenager, nothing more than a bitch. They weren't there. They didn't see. They didn't feel it, that feeling like somebody reaching right inside you and pulling out every warm feeling, every simple pleasure, every sunny afternoon and every strangers smile. You have to push people away because they don't understand, they can't see inside. Maybe you don't want them to.
You don't want to know what's wrong with you. Because there's nothing wrong with you. You just need some time, because it's all coming back. Slowly.



photo credit - miche hart