Never have I understood how therapy helps others.
It is hell,
Confinement in a small light room,
Watching the butterflies on the wall who have lost their freedom as I have.
Why do people pay for this?
Alone in my thoughts,
Anger swirling in my mind,
Pushing at the barrier of my lips,
Begging to tell my secrets,
My true feelings.
I repress them,
The demons that I must never free,
For if released my family will suffer.
Confined in a small light room,
Sinking into the sofa,
Wishing it would shallow me whole,
Yearning to be anywhere but there.
Avoiding my sisters sitting with me.
Ignoring their body warmth as I learn further away.
Avoiding their eyes,
I watch in amazement as the specks on the ceiling blur.
The dull conversation diminishes to mere murmurs.
Avoiding her eyes,
Her blonde hair tightly pulled back,
Exposing her sharp cheekbones,
So sharp they appear to stretch the pale skin.
Her beady ocean blue orbs search my face,
I feel her gaze, sinking further into the comfort of the sofa.
Her voice getting louder,
“How do you feel?”
I silently laugh.
If only you knew.
If only they knew.
If only I allow my thoughts to trespass that sealed barrier of my lips.
Those months of paranoia,
Living in fear,
Consumed by concern.
I hide the sharp objects,
My eyes constantly darting,
Searching for more dangers.
Searching her body for more cuts.
The same routine,
The same search.
My sanity slowly degrading.
I will never let her hurt herself again.
Holding my tongue,
Careful not to trigger her.
Fearful for her life,
I forget my own.
But it has never gone away.
Her cutting has healed itself,
As well as her mind.
I lay broken.
Resentful for the fear I lived in.
Knowing that my efforts can never be appreciated.
She never knew.
She can never know,
The guilt will eat her alive,
I can never tell her how I feel.
I peel my eyes from the ceiling,
Muscles pulling my mouth into what I pray is a smile.