I'll Be Here

The pillow beneath your head is damp from your tears. You've been crying for some time now. There would be no hiding the water marks. But after the emotional day you've had you can't muster the strength to care.

You're tired of feeling expendable to people. Tired of feeling like you're a second thought. Especially to those who say they love you.

The merry-go-round of people who have come into your life only to leave it grows larger. You aren't one who handles abandonment well since it's all you've ever known.

Friends.

Family.

Lovers.

Eventually they all grow tired of your antics.

What they start off calling passion, humor, fun, excitement shifts. The words morph and take on new meanings.

"You're too emotional."

"You're too loud."

"Too much of a burden."

"Too sad."

"Too chaotic."

"Too up and down."

"Too different."

"Too much."

And yeah, maybe your past experiences have hurt you enough that you carry them around like chains shackled to your ankles. It's something you've been working to heal from in therapy but that didn't make losing people any easier.

You mourn the losses like deaths.

Each loved one who up and leaves cuts deeper than the last.

After awhile....it's difficult to not blame yourself.

Your therapist tells you that people who love openly and selflessly sometimes give too much of themselves to the wrong people. Your therapist also tells you that you have a tendency to put others first.

And while that's true...you find yourself frequently struggling to believe that your wants, needs and emotions are more important than those around you.

You aren't sure where this belief stems from. What you do know is putting yourself first is not something that comes easy to you.

But how could you after a lifetime of continuously being shown that you aren't worthy enough to be put first? How could you even begin to express your needs when those always ended up being a burden to others.

Perhaps your therapist is wrong.

Maybe, just maybe....you're the problem.

You cry harder, to the point that your shoulders shudder with every shaky inhale. This thought pattern is not a healthy one. It's a path your brain has taken many times before. Each step is a different stone that represents a distorted belief about yourself.

The coping mechanisms you've learned specifically for times like these seem impossible to comprehend. You need to shake this off, but how can you when your limbs feel weighed down? If the couch cushions suddenly opened up and swallowed you whole would you even care?

The sounds of your sobs surround you—making it near impossible to hear.

How your ears pick up the click of the lock on the front door or its opening is nothing short of a miracle.

You quickly cover your mouth with your hand, feebly trying to muffle your cries. How had you allowed yourself to lose such track of time? You hadn't even started dinner! Even if you managed to hide your tears that alone would alert him to the fact that something is wrong.

Do you lie?

Pretend you fell asleep on the couch?

Maybe you had a nightmare and that's the cause of your tears?

Or should you be honest?

Otto Octavius is a busy man.

Bothering him with your worthless emotions seems wrong.

But....if you couldn't be honest with your boyfriend then who could you be honest with?

"Sweetheart? I'm home."

The deep timbre of his voice snaps your thoughts back to the present. You feverishly wipe your tears away with the backs of your hands.

Your brain screams at you to hide the evidence although you don't fully understand what crime you've committed. You sit up and try smoothing down your hair. Dare you chance making a run to the bathroom to splash some water on your face?

"Ah! There you are."

Too late for that now.

You turn your head toward him, your eyes locking as he takes in the scene before him. His smile falls and his brows knit together in concern.

Fresh tears form and start to roll down your cheeks. You sink back down onto the couch just as the first sob bleeds from your throat. You curl in on yourself, trying hard to disappear.

Otto is by your side in an instant. You feel his hands on you, one on your back and the other touching the top of your head. He always moves with such grace for one so tall and large.

Your giant scientist.

He deserves better than a sniveling, teary eyed partner.

The thought has you sobbing harder. You want to tell him to leave so you can push him away to save him from the mess of dealing with you.

"Sunbeam, what's going on?"

His voice is laced with worry as his thick fingers try to run through your hair and brush it back from your face. You shake your head, denying him.

"Don't hide from me." His tone is stern, father-like.