My Golden Breakdown

I went to therapy the other day.
And I wanted to be sad.
But I couldn't say that I just wanted to vomit all the pain I'm going through.

That was the whole point.
To have one person to just understand every feeling I was having, a person that could absorb the weight I put uopn myself.

But I didn't say.

There is a lot to it and a lot to say, but I don't think I even tried.

I didn't even say that it would've made me feel better to turn the lights off and to lay down.

I just sat there, staring at her.
Acting like I was just narrating another person's suffering.
Like I was giving the highlight reel.

It's like I was separated from the pain that I felt.

And it's not like the pain isn't real, but it happens with everyone.

I just tell the flat version, in my flat voice, in my thoughtless mind, ever so distanced from my actual feelings.

I wish I could just collapse in front of the poeple I love and just have everything crash down.

Because at least then they would know.

And it's just an assumption, but I've always felt like if I hit rock bottom, that someone would help me up.

And I think they would, maybe, but everytime I get somewhere low. I always hide it.

I always survive it on my own.

But somtimes I wish I didn't.

Sometimes I wish that I would be crushed under my own pain.

Because, at least someone would see.

And someone could help.

But instead, I have these breakdowns.

Thinking about every little detail I miss about her and everything we would do together if we were still a couple.

But instead of moving on or talking to her, I write these poems at 2 in the morning, crying in my bed.