…but I just need help

I am the girl, hiding from herself. Hiding from her feelings. Who uses lies like a shield, and doesn’t know anger comes so easy. Her sadness will never come out, she she let’s it build. She hides so she will not become engulfed in this weight.
I am scared. I am lost. I am alone” – Zo (2006/16 years old)

The above passage is from my diary when I was 16 and suffering like no other being. It’s difficult for me to remember actually being her. I remember making art and writing, but I could never really understand why that was all I could do. How do I touch those words? It’s just so much tragedy, it’s impossible to swallow.

As the days pass recently, I feel a strange ebbing in my chest that feels, well I can’t yet describe how I feel, and that’s what hurts. I’m in a tornado of fomentation for the answers of myself. I think I probably feel scared and alone..but mostly nauseous. I just want to burst, but I don’t even know what I mean by that.

My past has me in a constant state of isolation (in one way or another), I feel trapped and frantic, but at the same time…I feel curious and devoted. Every old diary entry that I read and actually can understand, it’s  like I’m getting a shard of myself back.

This is all so overwhelming and just plain scary. But, I still have to live my life in the present. I have relationships with people, and they’re so much work, and I’ve always felt overly devoted to my partners and friends. The effort I put into my external life often disappoints me. There are just certain intricacies that I want to express and discuss.

Over analyzing everything is just a thing I do. I need to talk about the little things, and experience growth and love that matures in intimacy. I don’t feel like my partner can handle my needs. At least not right now, and that means something to me.

He listens when I tell him the fucked up shit in my head, the sad, the unaddressed. But never really replies, he just kind of…listens and pays attention and says he loves me. I feel addled by this. His lack of engagement stultifies me. I typically don’t give myself the credit to feel I deserve basically anything, let alone attention. But I do deserve it, and in too many ways, I require it.

In the past, my partner has needed my emotional support through his own personal struggles. Sometimes, this support required an decent period of devotion on my part. I would hold him when he kicked and screamed, I would physically be right next to him every chance I could. I put aside other little but still important tasks on hold for a while. I would be very sensitive and affectionate. I needed my partner to know that I was giving them extra attention. I wanted to assure my partner that their pain was valid and warranted the extra attention that any terrible wound does.

You take special care of the people you love when they are hurt, to remind them that they’re important and worth the sacrifice of your time. I’m grateful to have someone there for me. My partner loves me, and I them. Maybe even too much.

But I don’t feel like my wound is anything more than a topic, rather than a painful experience. He’s just as attentive as any other time, like the same as he is everyday. He’s not helping me break into myself. He doesn’t fight for me at the most crucial times. He simply gives me my space and leaves me alone when all I want to do is scream for someone to come get me…but I can’t get even a word of my desperate cries out.

I want him to get through the painful aggression of my distance. Walk through my walls like he was born to do it. That’s the love I want, and I know that it’s too much to ask. But at least I’m putting all my efforts into doing just that for myself…but I just need help. I hate that I need help, but I just don’t have the ability or strength or capacity to dig for my emotions alone. It’s so damn hard and I have people I can talk to, which is priceless. But no one will come over with a shovel.

No one wants to save me that terribly, or they do but they’re intimidated by the commitment of it. I get that, it’s a sacrifice. I want someone to hold my hand before I have to walk the rest of the way alone.