Something

There's something in me that tells me that I am strong enough to pull a cover over this.

To look what I am facing in the eye and simply say, "No."

To put it in a box and say, "I don't need to deal with you. Ever. Because you aren't an issue."

To see that pain and hurt and say that it's simply not real, because I refuse to acknowledge it.

To go on, stoic, strong and unaffected, ready to help people deal with their pains and emotions.





It's foolproof.
It's that something that I've used countless times.




It's knowing that it's okay if people aren't there for me, because I've never needed it before.


It's knowing that it's okay to feel alone, because I've gotten through before.


It's knowing that the unbearable weight on my chest will go away eventually because sleep is inevitable.


It's knowing that I don't need to talk about it, because I have no one to listen anyway.














There's something in me that tells me that I am strong enough...
























... it's the same something that tells me that strength comes from being detached and alone...






















Something is a lie.


















It's knowing...
it's knowing that I am not strong enough.
... that hardness sets in.
... facades fade.
... I am weak.



It's knowing that there is a glimmer of hope.
Deut. 316