What My Old Wounds Tell Me
The voices in my head are whispers of my past.
The voices in my head are whispers of my past.
They are my pain and my trauma brought to life, begging me not to let it all happen again.
Sometimes, when I’m feeling lost and forgotten, when I’m deep underwater and I cannot see the sun, I listen to those voices. I let them escape, too tired from my futile efforts to stay afloat to keep them in any longer. And they say things, things that I mean but not in the way that they say them.
They make it sound like I’m blaming you, but that’s not what I’m trying to do. They make it sound like nothing you do is good enough for me, but that’s not what I mean. They make it sound like I’m asking you to rescue me, but I really just want to be seen.
I’m sorry for what they say. They tell me you don’t care, and I know that’s not true. But then, they slip out and they say the same to you, even though I don’t want them to. And you get angry and hurt, and I understand and I feel bad, but I don’t know how to say what I want to say to you.
I just need you to hear me, but I can’t seem to reach you. I need you to want to hear me. And I think you do, but maybe you just don’t have the time. The clock ticks down whenever we’re together. I cannot think when I know that there’s a fuse running out, how am I supposed to speak? How can we have a conversation when the minutes are so short.
Perhaps it’s best if I just let my needs drown, and those dark voices with them.
