Traumatic Hypocrite
/Trauma is a word I despise. Overused by overly sensitive people to partake in a discussion about negatively impactful moments in the lives of those who have experienced real horrors.
But I’m a fucking hypocrite. I say this just to be able to avoid acknowledging the hurt of others, to in return have a built-in excuse that allows me to ignore my own. A clever little trick that makes it appear as though the reason I’d be a hypocrite is because of talking about it, but in reality, I’m a hypocrite for pretending we aren’t all scarred and broken. Scared and chokin’ on the thoughts unspoken.
I tell people to open up, speak their truths, acknowledge their pain and work through it by exposing themselves to the trauma head-on. Meanwhile, I speak to no one about the demons I face. Quiet internal battles. I’m so well versed at the art of misdirection that I’ve trained myself to store backup smaller traumas to disclose the moment I’m questioned on the subject. Practical, tactical misdirection. Masterful to the point of perfection.
Yet I daydream of tasting the barrel of my pistol. Maybe it’s the best way to silence these judging voices and horrid noises. A hole in the back of my head might be the escape route they’ve needed all along. Maybe they’re as stuck as I am. Maybe it’s mutual torture.
A neglected and abused child lives in the dark corners of my mind. And try though I may, the fucker can’t be killed. He ruins everything.
Convinces me constantly:
That everyone will leave me.
That everyone is unimpressed by anything I do.
That I inherently have no worth.
That I’m a waste of time since birth.
That I’m a burden on the Earth.
This fucking kid that keeps echoing the words of their broken parent, although obviously wrong. It’s so difficult to feel as though people care. I feel everyone is lying to me. Everyone is telling me what I want to hear, how I want to hear it. But it’s all lies. Why love me? Why enjoy my company? Why be around me? I’m suspicious of everyone. It always feels like I’m being manipulated and when I can’t see, these same people who pretend to be on my side are forgetting I exist.
I always feel so ignored. Like everyone is tuning out in the middle of me talking to them. Either going somewhere else in their heads or simply not paying attention. Splitting the focus with whatever else is going on, because I’m not worth the full attention of any one person.
I’m riddled with insecurities. Always need to be reassured that I matter only to turn around and feel like they are giving me that assurance not because they feel it but because I asked for it.
I’m irrational.
I’m a masochist.
Selfish while thinking I’m selfless.
A needy narcissist.
A greedy, angry, jealous little boy who will forever remember being forgotten.
Being hidden.
Being kept a secret.
Being left behind.
Being abandoned.
Being abused.
I will forever be broken.
And I’ll never speak a word of it.
Because I am a hypocrite.