I know it seems like a complain a lot about my life. I’m not that miserable in reality. I have my best friend. I have my job, they keep me happy but it’s lonely out in the real world among the humans who know nothing of us. My life is a lie to them. I can’t tell them what I do. I can’t tell them what I am. I can’t complain to them, there is only one listening ear for the past ten years. Dr. Margo Silverman, my therapist has heard it all, over and over again. Weekly we discuss how I’m doing, what’s bothering me, and more and more I talk the more I realize I don’t want this.
The world is empty without family, without a home. I want to be safe and while I am safe in the real world. There are no ties, no connections, Margo believes that I’ve grown out of my need to push people away to want more. That change scares the hell out of me. To open up to someone; to let them in.
I feel the pain of every loss in my life. I feel the misery done unto me. Every beating, every angered word. The heat of the fire, the cool touch of the air. If I dwell on it I can feel every lash and every moment of my torment because I trusted people. Because I was a child and knew no better than to guard myself from those who could hurt me. I won’t let that happen again.