I can never quite quiet myself down, even when my mouth is shut my brain is boggling with words it cannot store….
Pain, when I was child everyone thought that the only kind I could feel was the ones I could see, the boo boos and ouchies. They never realised I felt bad when they treated other children with tender love and care while I sat at the side and watched.
When I went to school, they told me the only kind I was capable of feeling was the pang of low grades or the ones from my pubertal changes. They never saw how it hurt when someone else was picked over me, when they told me I would never get over my stutter, when they told me it was the best I would ever get.
When I went out with friends, they told me the only kind I would know was the one where I won’t be able to get things my friends did, the one where a boy I like may end up liking one of my friends. They never even thought about how difficult it was when I couldn’t find myself liking the same things as them, when I couldn’t drool over things they did. I was never warned they would leave one day, when they did I almost died.
When I left home for college, they told me the only kind I would feel was from sudden silence and wishing to be home. They never told me it would be gut wrenching-ly painful when I would have no friends, survive alone, lay alone in the dead of night wishing I had someone.
When I fell in love, the only thing they warned me was about heartbreak when he leaves or cheats or decides he loves you no more. No one mentioned the lump in my throat when I wouldn’t be able to hold him, the icy cold pang in my chest whenever he said something rude. No one mentioned the pain which was more than tears and incessant crying, the one that kept you up because your chest fails to feel warm.
When I told them I was hurting, they told me it was just a couple of years, it would be over. What they never asked was if I wanted to talk about it, the thing that ailed me. They saw a noose around my neck and told me it would break off soon. It did and so did I.