I. just. don't. know...
I'm so tired.
It feels like someone has died.
You say it's normal, I'm "grieving the loss of the life I had imagined for myself"...
only, it doesn't feel like that was the imaginary part.
I think I'm creating more hurt for myself than there has to be.
I think the part I talk about now is the part I imagined (even if sometimes it feels really real).
I think I've lied so much, even I believe it.
Forget that it meanss so much stuff would now make sense.
Forget that I have no other real basis for these body sensations.
Forget. I just want to forget.
It's an elaborate story, like the lady who went on for years acting as if she were at 9/11 when in reality she was not even in the country at the time... She had a reason for her lie, and she might have truly believed it at the time.
I think that's what's going on here too.
I think I have a reason for this lie that I don't totally understand right now. Maybe I need to assuage the guilt of deciding to cut him out of my life for less?
Maybe I need something that lying about this gives me?
Maybe perpetuating this lie allows me to continue to avoid functioning at the level that is expected of me?
I only really believe it when it's hitting me.
Other times it's just a really detailed and disgusting story.
I've got a good imagination.
I know how to weave a really good story.
I know how to make you feel for the character and to be sucked in by her manipulation.

I'm ****ing with you.
It's all a lie.
I need something from you, and this is how I'm getting it.

It's a lie.
It's a lie.
It's a lie.

I'm torn between reaching out again, and wanting to avoid tipping our hand.
I want to just fade away.
but there's too much I have to stay here for at the moment.
No one can cover my shift tomorrow.
Wife will be home Sunday.
I have to show up for session Monday.
I have to work Tuesday.
It's wife's b-day on Wednesday...

The list keeps going.
There's not a convenient time.
It's not immanent, so no need to mention it.
Maybe next week...

I'm so tired.
You had said something about me looking tired, looking like I'd held it all for too long.
You were right.
...but you were also wrong.
It's the lie I'm holding, not a truth.
It's the exhaustion of needing to keep inventing reasons to be incapacitated.
It's fear.

I wish you believed that.
I wish I really believed it too.
I'm not sure.
It's hard contending with something I should have know all along, but only recently became aware of.
Sure, it makes sense with the dissociation, the fears, the body sensations, everything...
but it doesn't mean it's gotta be true.

Why does it feel like my chest is caving in?
Why does it feel like someone has died?
Why can't I just forget it all again?
I want to just forget it all again...

Pieces,
t.w.o.