You used to look at me,
your eyes would fill with questions you never dared to ask and your forehead would crease together in obvious disappointment.
You didn't always look at me like that.
Lately, I'm a trigger for you,
I can hear the words before they leave your lips.
You haven't been yourself lately.
That's a trigger for me,
I nod my head in false agreement while my eyes search for something interesting enough to stare at.
I never disagreed aloud,
too ashamed to meet your gaze a second time.
The first time had already taken so much courage.
I'm not myself.
That's not true.
I'm not my best self, but I'm still me.
I think that makes it worse.
I hate it sometimes,
I hate how even when I try so hard to do things right, they still turn out wrong.
I hate when I feel so lonely, and yet even the idea of socializing exhausts me.
I hate that I can relax all day and still ache with stress.
I hate how much needs to be said when I'm not in the mood to talk.
I hate that all I want to do is be alone because it's the last thing that I need.
And I hate that I have no control over a part of me that will always exist.
I'm sorry that I pushed you away for not knowing how I felt after I locked my words behind my lips and expected you to have the key.
I messed up,
I know that.
But, you have to know that I'm trying,
I really am.
That has to count for something.
I hope it counts for something.
