I hate that I’ve been wearing a facade for as long as I can remember. I hate that I’ve hidden my emotions. I hate that I’ve faked happiness, laughed the tears away, thrown myself aside for others. Why, you may ask? Call me selfish, but now that I’m genuinely loved by someone, genuinely cared for and accepted, I can’t give the same in return. I physically cannot. I’m so used to stowing away the tear-drenched nights and unbearable pain in little boxes to be pushed under my bed, gathering dust. And I can’t retrieve them. I can’t express myself. Not even the good. My mind has accustomed itself to push away any old feelings that even love is pushed aside. I can’t let the simplest of words out. I can’t pick the locks on those dusty chests. And I can’t set myself free.
Sometimes, I feel as though locking myself into one of those ragged boxes and stowing myself away for good would be the best choice. Off the face of this earth. Would things be better then? Would things be easier?
All I want is to love you the way you love me, but I am physically incapable of doing so.