Part II: What I Can’t Say Out Loud
I don’t know how to say it. I don’t even know if I should say it. But I’m hurting. And I don’t mean in a dramatic way or some attention-seeking thing—I mean I’m really, quietly, painfully hurting. And I don’t know who I’m allowed to say that to anymore. Because the one person I used to tell everything to… they’re gone. Not physically. They’re still here, technically. But emotionally? Spiritually? Whatever word you want to use for that soul connection? Gone.
There’s something I’ve been carrying lately. Something I wish I could just dump out on someone’s lap and say, “Please help me hold this.” But it’s heavy, and complicated, and wrapped up in layers I don’t even fully understand. And every time I think, maybe I can tell them, I freeze. Because they’ve made it pretty clear—they’re not that person for me anymore. Or maybe I’m not that person for them.
And it makes me feel so small. Like maybe I asked for too much. Like maybe I was too emotional, too dependent, too open. Like maybe I ruined it by caring too hard. And now I’m stuck in this weird space where I’m both craving comfort and convincing myself I don’t deserve it.
I wonder if they’d even care if I told them what I’m feeling. If I said, “Hey, I’m not okay,” would they just send a one-word reply and move on? Would it even matter to them that I’m drowning in this silence? Or would they just say “I’m sorry” and go back to whatever it is they care about now?
It hurts, you know. It hurts to have something big inside you and no one to say it to. Especially when the one person you used to trust with everything now feels like the last person you’d even try.
-S