Two days later and I’ve finally managed to unpack my belongings into my new room and put everything in its place. Two days have felt like forever, and although my room is full of my possessions, I feel like I have less than nothing. After all this time, things are finally settling in, I can feel everything fitting into place, and I know it won’t be long until I finally fall apart.
I know it won’t be long until I break into a hundred million pieces and let everyone down. I know it won’t be long and I’ll finally cave, drowning helplessly in my past as it finally catches up to me. It won’t be long until I fall victim to my emotions as they choke me mercilessly, vengefully demanding to be felt after so many long years of apparent suppression.
It’s not that things haven’t affected me, because they have. I’ve just developed different ways of dealing with them to other people because if I ever get emotional it just makes everything ten thousand times worse, because everyone else needs me to be strong ‘for them’. The minute I let anything sink in for too long, I get worked up about everything, and people make me feel guilty for it, but they make me feel worse by pointing out the fact that I show such little emotion anymore. It’s quite a game, really, being expected to fight everyone else’s battles for them, and not being allowed to fight mine because everyone else’s are more important because I ‘don’t need’ help, and I ‘don’t deserve’ to be listened to because I ‘don’t care’ and apparently this makes me ‘strong enough’ to deal with this on my own. According to them; if I help them, I’ll get better, and things will be easier.