The Truth Hurts Worse…

…Than anything I could bring myself to do to you.

– Fall Out Boy: I’ve Got All This Ringing In My Ears & None On My Fingers.

Dear heart, stop aching. Dear mind, stop contemplating. I’ve been chopping potatoes to make chips (that’s fries to Americans). My finger hurts from the motion. And my hands are a little unsteady everytime I cut.

Only cutting potatoes. Only thinking of something else.

It crosses my mind everytime I pick up a knife recently. I don’t mean it to, but I think that if I was to take a way out, that would probably be it. A quick slice. So bleeding to death isn’t quick, but you’re less likely to be saved unless you’re living in a soap opera. And as far as I’m aware, I’m not.

Judging by everything that happens, though, I can’t be sure of that last statement.

This isn’t the nicest of my posts. Sorry for that. Always sorry.

I don’t think I’d do it… I can’t be sure, but I don’t think I would. Simply because I lack the energy. The worrying thing? I don’t even feel particularly depressed right now. Just empty. I’m perfectly calm. Perfectly rational.

I guess it might not seem like the latter considering what I’ve just told you.

I think I would do it that way. Cut down the vein and watch. Red. It’s my favourite colour, you know? It raises your heart rate when you see something red and lowers it when you see something blue. I learnt that in Health and Social Care a long time ago.

Sometimes I feel far too old. Like the lyrics to Try by Nelly Furtado. “I have lived so many lives though I’m not old.

I’m so sorry for being like this. I realise it’s not what people want to read. Just skip over and go to the fiction. It’s better than real life anyway…

I guess it’s kind of funny what no explanation and a broken heart can do to you. I probably wouldn’t have gotten to this stage if I’d been given that explanation. I would have worked it out in my head, made myself come around to the idea. Hell, it would have been easier if he could have done it because he loves her.

That would make sense. That would have let me get on with things. I could have told myself that it was fine, because who am I to stand in the way of real love?

No one.

I would never do that.

And if he’d done it because he loved her I would have hated him for a while and then I would have told myself that I was wrong, that he wasn’t the one, that every little piece of me was wrong and that I was right to hold back little bits because he didn’t deserve them. He didn’t deserve to hear exactly how much I care…

I’ve kind of given up.

I have no energy. No fight. No hate. No nothing… I guess that’s why I’m feeling so perfectly calm and so perfectly rational.

It’s a bit like being an empty shell. If you put your ear to it you can hear something but really there’s nothing but hollowness.

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1 thought on “The Truth Hurts Worse…”

  1. I hope this doesn't come out sounding harsh, but you're far too talented to be this stuck. If writing truly is your passion, you should bury yourself in it.

    I'm not saying you shouldn't have a life or feel pain. Instead, you should find your purpose. If it's writing, then learn everything you can and write. If it's something else, then focus on that.

    Love and life are hard, I realize that. I'm lucky to have found my wife when I was young. You'll find the right person, but only if you find yourself first. Obtain fulfillment in your own life. Learn who you are as a person.

    Well, that's my $.02 anyway.

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