Keturah

I don't know what to do with myself. I hate nights like these. Empty. Spoiled. Long. I am a child. And I can't breathe. My brain hurts. It's not a headache. My brain is itchy and scratchy and needs to be soothed and calmed.

Everything feels wrong. My hands hold my head. I need comfort, but I don't know where to go, as if there was some place to turn.

I get desperate. I need to go.

These nights are the hardest to suffer. They make me ache like nothing else can. The nights make me feel lonely and helpless and vacuous. I need to feel complete.

The voices in my head try to race to completion, as if there were a finish line. Who can scream the loudest. Who can talk the fastest.

Don't you know how much this hurts. I'm not as strong as you think. I'm cracking. I'm breaking. You refuse to see it.

I don't want to rescue myself anymore. For tonight, I need you to pick me up off the ground, hold me and hug me, protect me, and make me feel everything will be alright.

They are in my head right now. In 3-D. Coming at me. I can see them. They can see me.  I can hear them.  They won't hear me.

Please don't be one of them.