Please

“You make yourself unwanted”. I read the sentence in a fury, my eyes swiftly lift the words off the bright screen, plunge them through raging pupils, and allow them to burrow deep into my gut. It feels like eternity letting them fester there, bubbling and gurgling in the chaotic mess that is my anger.  My fingers vibrate violently as text message after text message rolls in.  More truth, more pain, I want to beg him please stop.  I want to vomit and cry and toss myself onto the floor because despite how terrible I feel, I know he is right. Why do I have to wait for other people to confirm my own thoughts? Why does it hurt so much more when someone else tells me something about myself that I have known forever? I don’t feel like Renee anymore.

No amount of minutes and seconds on FaceTime can bridge the disconnect between me and this imaginary world I live in. A world where I am always right and everyone else is false, out to get me, secretly hating and plotting.

I am standing on the edge of psychotic and all he has to do is ask me to jump. I am waiting, frozen on the tip of his tongue. I want to beg him, please catch me.

 

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