Secrets

I am overloaded with information.

I am locked.

I am tired of thinking of everybody else.

This is okay.  This is not okay.

It isn’t fair.  But it is less fair, if that’s even possible, that I have no one to tell about it.  No one to let in.  I don’t know what to say.

I see all of the information, laid out.  I read.  I listen.  But I can’t absorb any of it.

There’s a lot to know.  There’s a lot to ponder.

I know that it’s impossible to survive alone.

I think of the people who care, of how different their opinions would be if they knew.  I think of the pedestal that I have placed myself on; I think of the way I imagine they see me.  In my head, I make their caring conditional.

To say that it’s wrong without even knowing, without having been there…

What would people think?

Secrets kill.  Which is more important, an intact reputation or a life?  Is it better to be completely decimated mentally, yet still viewed as good?  Is that living?  What makes a life?

I pride myself in my ability to fly solo.  I carry the weight of the world, so carrying my own doesn’t matter.  I’m not good at sharing.  I don’t want to.  No one should have to carry that weight.

I itemize:  I should let a friend in.  I should let a friend help.  I should give it careful consideration.  I should, I should, I should.  I am tired of should-ing.  I am tired of caring.  I want to not care.  Can I do that?  For a little while?  No.

Internally, I laugh.  It’s ironic, really.

I am spontaneously combusting due to the influx of information.  I am exploding on the inside.  Whatever happens will be okay.  It will never be okay.

I sink into the chair.  I meet the eyes of the stranger, the next in a series.  I look back down.  I have to decide this, this thing.  It’s not as easy as one might think.

Life is not black and white.  It’s horrible.  It is not simple; it is not easy.  The world is not safe.  Children die.  Women walk to their cars at night with an expectation of going somewhere, and they never get there.  People just don’t come home, every day.

People disappear.  No one notices.

And yet, it’s okay.

It is not okay.

In a blink, it’s over.  The end.

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