Victimhood; Something so instinctual,
Yet so frowned upon.
Fleeting glances of disapproval are often exchanged when someone labels themselves as such.
Love requires effort.
The perfection of this is something as realistic as knowing every animal scattered across the earth.
Maintaining it requires long tiresome conversations.
Conversations where you have to force yourself to see neither yourself or the other as wounded.
I remember the balled fists, screaming, and the “I hate you”’s we exchanged during these conversations when I was a child.
I remember the hundreds of times my mom had told me I was just like her abusive father the moment an ounce of bitterness surfaced.
The times where the only outcome that came from communication was shame.
After years of being called sensitive and stupid,
I withdrew,
Choosing to keep my emotions close to my chest.
Such responses became most familiar to me.
I became comfortable with the idea that there would always be some kind of consequence for simply feeling.
A sense of anxiety seems to quickly wrap itself around my throat whenever these conversations lack their previous cutting edge.
“Did you think I’d be upset?”
No.
I thought you would snatch away the sense of security you gifted me.
The security I cling to so desperately.
I doubted the continuance of your love out of paranoia.
It’s easier to expect unreliability when you’re used to being disappointed,
Seeing as it has been more common for affection to be fleeting and disingenuous.
Author’s Note:
Suicide is complex, just as death is. Its essence is unable to be captured in merely a minute. It is something so painful, yet many of us long for it.
Nix Hunter | 16 | Arizona, USA | @nixnix.nom on TikTok
