The cursor blinks,
while I think of what to write.
My brain is bursting with ideas,
like how my week went,
how I’m afraid I’m turning into a person I don’t like,
how I’m too cowardly to stand up for myself,
how not okay I am.
But I can’t say any of that.
I’ve been trained not to.
I could put on a smile and pretend to be cheerful,
but I don’t have the energy anymore.
I know I should be able to write something happy
I have so much to be thankful for.
but it’s hard to be grateful when there’s so much trauma left unaddressed,
and so much unhappiness hidden behind the walls I’ve put up.
I think I need to be held,
but who will hold me?
a partner who’s never around?
friends I’m scared to bother?
parents who don’t know how to listen?
the therapist I desperately need but don’t have?
I am the only person I will let console me,
So I’ll sit here and soothe myself,
While I stare down a blank page
And soldier on
As if nothing is wrong.