Sometimes I can hardly bear to look at you, to smell you, to be near you.
Sometimes I am torn between longing to be near, and wanting to run away while I still can, before it's too late, before I get broken.
I never claim to be a whole, balanced person, for I am not. I am a teetering mess of broken pieces, held together with masking tape and tears and determination and hope.
Sometimes I look at you and your eyes are so blue, and just, YOU....and something aches and pangs inside of me and it hurts.
I know that I am all fucked up, and there may not be any fixing of me. We try. They try. Who knows if any progress is actually made. For me, love and pain are almost the same thing, and I love you, reluctantly, fearfully, because I am always waiting for the pain. I wish that I could love people freely, easily, with joy and ease, the way other people do....but for me it is always a struggle.

You say that I think everything is about me, but that isn't true. I think that everything is about pain, which, of course, will end up in my lap, in my head, in my amygdala, driving me mad while my frontal lobes stand by in impotent horror. The smallest things, that happen, that don't happen. My brain screams that they're portents of immediate danger, that there's not time to think just RUN, REACT!!!! And, it does, often for no damned reason at all.

And it takes HOURS to stop running. Hours. Even then, I am like a jittery, spooked horse. And then, abruptly, just really tired.

Welcome to the world of PTSD.
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. Sometimes I think that there isn't any hope. That I've been believing in a hoax, a fairy tale, a thing that isn't real. I want to believe that it's safe, but on the other hand, what if it's not?