Stop Me

I'm not sure if that's a command or a request. I don't know whether I mean it sincerely or if I just want to see that someone will. Either way, I'm saying it.

I'm trembling. The thoughts in my head are racing by and my mind is reeling from the confusion. I may be in a bright room, flooded with light, full of the noises of everyday life, people working, clocks ticking, footsteps in the halls, but it is as though I am sitting in a dark corridor, lost and alone. The feeling is too familiar. It's a corridor I've never once seen in my life, yet have metaphorically sat in time after time after time.

Here I am again.

There is no light in the passageway. There is no beginning and no end. There is only me, crouched on the floor, arms wrapped around my legs, hoping that this way, nothing can touch me, yet knowing full well that I've been torn to shreds long before I got here.

Am I waiting for something?

I have no sense of time passing. For all I know, the rest of the world around me may have disappeared long ago. I'm wrapped in a blanket of pain. The only things I feel are the anxiety eating through my stomach and the misery crawling about my flesh. All I know is that I can't stop them. I can't do anything except for sit here and hope that it will pass.

The worst part is knowing that I put myself there. I found my way into that hallway, although I'll be damned if I know how. Nobody shoved me down against the wall. Nothing tied me down. It's all my fault.

Again.

Why do I keep doing this to myself? Why do I keep dumping the pathetic semblance of an individual that I am into this hell? I keep looking for excuses to let myself, and the worst part is that I know damn well exactly how to find them. I've learned to lie to myself and everyone around me about just why there's no avoiding this. But I've sliced through the nonsense, torn through the lies, and found the gnarled, convoluted mess that is the truth.

I did this to myself. And I will keep doing it.

That's the grim truth. Look into my eyes, and they will tell you nothing less. I don't fear the pain any longer. I'm not ashamed of the hell I drag myself through. But I still hide it. I hide it because I don't want pity and I don't want so-called concern. I don't need the nonsense that people present to appear compassionate or understanding. I'm tired of the nonsense and sick of the lies. They mean nothing, they aren't worth my effort or my time.

In this corridor, I have learned to build the iron wall that encircles my heart. I still feel, but I don't let it control me. And sometimes it rusts or falls into disrepair, and then I build it up again. The agony is the fire that fuels it, the intolerable pain is what renders it impermeable to the cruelty of the world.

This is how I live. This is what I do. This is how I handle life.

Stop me if you dare.