Insomnia Wounds

Wide. Awake.

4am.

Night four.

You don't care; stop pretending. Don't worry about me. Actually, don't ask about how I'm feeling. You'll receive brutal honesty which you won't know how to handle. Especially when I don't really understand why I feel melancholic. No I can't explain it, and no, I don't know what the trigger was this time. Sorry that disappoints you, frustrates you, angers and makes you feel alienated; helpless even. This isn't about you and your actions aren't altruistic . Yes, ok you're trying to help, but for who? You or me? You're here for me? Ok, sure you are. Either way, I'm being selfish and focusing solely on me; I don't care how it made you feel. When going gets rough, like now, you aren't really here. Cash your charity cheque elsewhere; I feel volatile. Every cell in my body owes it's parent cell energy trying to contain my frustration and keep Aaron together. Please don't make me expose you to my war ground. This is stuff your nightmares would run away from. The BBFC couldn't certify my internal conceptualisation. Satan would renounce his rule of hell. Urgh, yes I'm facially expressive, that gives you no permission to psychoanalyse me. You have no idea how I'm feeling, accept the brutal honest answer or just don't ask. It's not fair I have to handle your emotions as well as mine. Rationally, I appreciate your asking, your inquiry, your effort. Irrationally, I don't. In fact, just leave me alone. I don't need your attention. Go play lip service over there and allow me to transactionally interact. Leave me to my internal apprehension, exhaustion, paralysing anxiety, ruminating thoughts and general feeling of frustration. Ordinarily, you wouldn't be worrying. Whether I have given you the impression that I'm independent and will handle whatever you throw at me, or not. It's about using your intuition to relieve some of the weight. But you don't, because Aaron has this. Nothing has changed right? I still do what I do, very well despite battling a million demons. I'm not moody, I'm not constantly throwing shade, I'm not 'sassy', I'm not business-as-usual. I know how to let my follicle challenged hair down. Ever thought that I don't feel comfortable in this environment to do so? People keep moving on. My backbone, my support system, my core strength, my reliability, my sanity. There are a million people around. A million people I could talk to. Yet, it doesn't feel comfortable like my childhood blanket. I don't feel enveloped in nostalgia, gently sneezing my chest, fibres gentling caressing my face, eyes closed, bearing a big grin, snuggling deeper into the soft cloud like pillow, knees to chest. I don't feel warm, fuzzy with heavy lidded eyes. I hear TV static, trapped inside a sound proof room.

Why can't anyone hear me? Why can't this just go away?

God, I need sleep.