Perfectly Imperfect

Cuarenta y cinco: I Don't Get It

"Please, just tell us," Joey pleaded after I changed my mind — again — about spilling my guts out to them.

"Oh c'mon, you were fine with telling us in the hallway," Sam argued.

"I think we can all agree I wasn't exactly in a good mental space in the hallway," I responded. "And besides, what's making you guys all down and worried going to do to help me?"

"It's good to talk about Carmen, it's not okay to keep everything you go through all bottled up," Sam tried to convince me.

"But —"

"Carmen, please. Why are you so apprehensive about this? You've changed your mind like a million times," she pleaded, cutting me off.

"I've just never. . . Ugh. It just. . . Well, it's not like it ever comes up in everyday conversation," I defended shakily.

I don't know how to put it into words. How do you put something as complicated as what they're trying to get me to describe. . . into something as simple as words.

This is coming from someone who loves to talk.

Like, really LOVES to talk, and share, and describe. It's great. I always know what to say. I've never had a problem with a 'cat catching my tongue'.

At least, not around most people. . .

The point is, it's usually not a problem. . . So why don't I know where to start?

Why does my mouth dry up and my mind go blank? Or my chest tighten and my hands get clammy?

I mean, I'm really just kidding myself.

I already know the answer.

But. . .

It's freaking pathetic.

Why am I like this? I always think, "Oh wait until someone actually listens to me" or "oh, you're so lucky you own this company that basically RUNS THE CITY, or you'd be in jail by now", but here I am.

And cat's got my tongue.

This is exactly what he wanted.

And I'm just laying it out in front of him on a silver platter.

Here I am, sitting in front of some of the only people he doesn't have control over, opportunity to say something, and I'm too. . . I'm too. . .

Afraid.

Afraid of what will happen next, what they'll think. I'm afraid that if I say it out loud it will make it a hundred times more real. That I'll be the freaking damsel in distress in the eyes of more than just one person.

Because, when a tree falls in a forest when no one's around, does it even make a sound?

When someone cries out when they know no one will hear, does the cry ever leave their lips? Did they even cry in the first place?

I like to think not.

But I even try to refrain from it when no one will hear or. . . care.

Just to prove him wrong.

Yet. . .

Here the frick we are!

Why don't I have enough guts to talk about it with people who make me feel safe?

No. . . Safe's not really the right word.

'Cause lord knows I could avoid a lot of trouble with not associating with them.