sometimes I imagine going insane. I imagine sitting in a group that think they know me, understand me. I imagine all of us around the table. I sit. Quiet. Seething. It’s all been building up for so long. I disassociate. My body isn’t mine, my soul is beside it. my hands are numb. I stare at them and flex my fingers. the movement feels foreign, stilted and all together numb. a tingling runs through my body. My brain whispers to me all sorts of abhorrent, delectable fantasies.
one of the people at the table chimes in, and I hear them, clear as day, they think their words are innocent, meaningless. They don’t understand. they’re voice grates into my head. Her skin glistens, her face fake, painted on so meticulously. she hides herself. I know what she really is. my body moves. my fingers close around a silver fork, the cold of it suddenly very real, and calming. it’s tines are sharp. they stab through the flesh of her petite hand so so easily. right through the skin and sinew. pushing past all the small bones of her fingers, out the other side and deep into the wood of the table. I’m surprised by my own strength, surprised by how sharp the fork was, how easy it had been to harm her.
I Imagine saying something witty, but all together meaningless, and absolutely insane. I imagine laughing and crying and drooling and saying all the things that had been in my head for so long, all the things I had thought about these shallow people that claim to care about me. Ha…. no one cares about me. I’m ugly, inside and out. who could ever learn to love a beast?
I imagine being taken away. somewhere far out of reach of the people that knew me. into a room that’s white and comfortable and safe. a place I was always meant to be in, a place where my circle of loneliness was complete. now it was my choice. Now I’m in control of my own loneliness.
I am here, and it is over. I’m no longer a burden. no one will have to pretend to love me ever again. I’m just another lonely face. in a crowd of crazy people.
