Get out

This is a quickie. Um, why did I come here?

I came to tell that I've decided something - I can start crossing off the list. I'm not going to have any counselling at all. It's not working because my heart isn't open, and my heart isn't in it. I know, and have known right from the beginning, that to get better, I need to tell my Dad. But I'm simply not ready. Nowhere near it. So I don't want people telling me that the truth will set me free. The truth can orchestrate your cages. Truth bleeds, retreats, and turns your pages.

I'm on my own, for now. I don't know how I will end up, but I know I'm falling. It's just all in slow motion. I'm a snowflake, watching the snow around me, and I'm waiting to hit the ground. For I know myself, and I'll do it when I'm ready, and I refuse to otherwise.

Until then, I will write, and aspire. I will perspire and cut and do whatever it takes to work through my stubborness, insolent fears. I will look after my friends, and gain a social life. I will never stop talking. I will to try laugh of my own accord and trust people without losing my sword - I'm very defensive these days, you know. I will try.

So how's it hanging?