At this point, I don’t think I ever show myself.
How can he ever decipher something I’ve hidden this well?
“I don’t know how to say this,” I admit.
“That’s okay,” he says quietly. “You don’t have to get it perfect.”
I stare down at my hands, picking at my sleeve, nails pressing into my skin.
“I guess I’ll just talk. But you need to promise me you won’t, by any substance, change the way you look at me.”
That’s impossible, because I will– am different.
“I promise,” he says instantly.
No hesitation.
And for some reason, that makes it harder.
I take a shaky and uneven breath.
“Basically,” my voice cracks before the word even fully leaves.
This is so stupid.
I know there are bigger problems in the world, but this particular problem swallowedmyworld, and I feel stuck in a bubble, floating me away from everyone I love.
“I, um, have nightmares.” I look at him and regret it instantly.
Great, now he thinks I’m making a nightmare sound horrifying.
I’m such a baby.
He’s looking at me gently, and I feel my heart break when I realize I can’t find the comfort in them.
“Every night,” I add.
I stare down at the floor, unable to look at him.
The words come out like broken glass scraping my throat. “I might have—hypothetically speaking—not been me around you guys. Like… ever.Hypothetically,I’ve only been showing the good part, and I realize that’s not healthy.” I take a shaky breath and dig my nail into my hand. “I’m really… tortured. I’m messed up. And I’m definitelynotnormal.”
Something inside me cracks.
The words start coming faster, like water spilling from a glass I can’t stop tipping over.
“I’m really ugly on the inside, Luca,” I whisper, but my whisper is jagged and loud in the quiet room. “I’m fine during the day. I just leave all the bad stuff for the night. I rarely sleep. I cut myselfemotionally. I abuse myself emotionally. I self-harm emotionally. I ruin everything good by cutting it up into a million pieces and pruning it all. Nothing to my body. Always on the inside.”
My throat burns.
My lungs ache.
I feel the tears fall down my face.
I hate crying in front of people.
“It might sound stupid, and that’s because it is. But for some reason, the moment the darkness coats all of Australia, thesehorriblethoughts come, and there is no switch to turn them off. All these thoughts make me feel dirty. They torture me, and the worst thing is that these are my own thoughts. How messed up is it that I’m creating a disgusting image of myself and replaying it every. Single. Night?”
I dig my fingernails into my palm to keep from shaking.
