I don't want to pick up the phone.

I don't want to pick up the phone.

The meduim of text allows the repression of emotion.

And at the moment I couldn't stand for you to hear me cry.

I'd feel pathetic and weak and fragile.

All the feelings I spent so many years trying to run away from.

Trying not to feel.

Which is what got me into this mess in the first place I guess.

Today I suddenly felt so alone.

Back in the place I thought i'd escaped from.

Weary.

Fucking tired of all the years I've spent struggling with this.

The dismay that I'm not as far beyond it as i thought.

Scared.

For a whole bunch of reasons that I can't even type because it feels too close.

And tomorrow, I'll go once more into the breach.

I'll dust myself off and plan and figure out what the fuck I need to do.

How I need to fight this.

I'll remind myself a stumble isn't a fall.

I'll remind myself how long the road to recovery can be.

I'll be filled with that old determination.

Resolve.

And as for tonight I will call.

I'll speak. Perhaps about everything but this.

Maybe I'll cry and feel pathetic and weak and fragile.

But I won't run away from it.

Not anymore.

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