When a person asks me how I am, I know they do not really want to know. My response is always "Oh, you know," and I shrug my shoulders and smile. They tilt their head and look at me with sad eyes and tell me how brave I am, how strong. The truth is that I am constantly drawing on every ounce of self control that I have because that is what it takes to stop myself bursting into tears all the time. How am I? I'm a fucking wreck is how I am. I am twenty two years old, nearly twenty three and I will probably not see twenty four. I have lost count of the amount of friends I have watched die, then had to see the grief their families experienced afterwards, and now I know that's exactly what my family will go through. I had to tell my big sister that there's nothing more that can be done for me. We are not bad people, and we don't deserve this, and I'm fucking outraged that this is happening but the worst part is that there is nowhere to direct my anger, because it is no one's fault. And I know really that none of this happens for any reason, but that doesn't make it any less horrendous. I want to stamp and scream and shout but that is a waste of energy when it won't make a blind bit of difference. Every time I do cry, my body only allows a few tears out before corking the ducts again because it knows there is no point. I don't say any of this because it would make whoever's asking after my well-being uncomfortable, and I don't want to make things awkward. I shouldn't give a damn, really - your discomfort is barely an insect bite compared to how I'm feeling, and you get to walk away and carry on living your life. But I'll be polite. I'll swallow the bile that threatens to spew from my mouth and instead I'll smile and say I'm okay, because it is the easiest way to keep everyone's emotions in a safe place.So know that when you ask me how I am, my shrugs are loaded with the words I cannot bring myself to say.
Documenting not dying since October 2013.