Don’t tell me.. (Incomplete)

You might see me as an injured person from afar. You might get worried because of the blood and the bandages everywhere. But Do not ask me to open my bandages just because you are a little curious to what is inside. Trust me when I tell you that your curiosity will end in a day or two but it will take me almost a lifetime to put the bandages back. You might even stay to help tend the wounds for a little while. But I know you will get tired of the blood soon enough and you will leave me with scratched up scabs and broken hope. Don’t take me as your summer project and think of me as something a volunteer fixes. Don’t tell me that I should start feeling again and that I should not belittle myself or laugh at myself. I do not want to dig deep into myself and take out the last glimmer of hope I have hidden inside just to see it crushed into dirt. Don’t promise me a better future if you’re going away in 4 weeks leaving me wanting for a friend; a hug; a smile; a pat on the back. Don’t sprinkle water on my face and make me dream of an ocean. I started doubting the water when my friends promised to teach me how to swim only to take me to a pool and try wrestling moves on me. Don’t give complements and tell me that I should be more confident. I’ve been shot down enough to know that most people don’t care. I am afraid that I might fall for you and start caring for you.

Don’t tell me that I sound selfish; if you ask me to I’ll give you all the parts that I have. The reason I’m broken is because people did not give back the parts that they took. So I sewed in artificial parts to make myself feel whole. An artificial skin. An artificial smile. An artificial heartbeat. I’ve lost count of all the artificial parts that I have. So when I tell you that I am numb, it’s not figurative. I’ve come to know that no matter how many coats of paint you apply to these artificial body parts, no matter how much you try to make them seem natural, the neurons always tend to reject connecting to them. Don’t tell me that I should love myself when I do not know what myself is anymore. Don’t tell me that I should respect myself when I do not even recognise which parts of myself I should actually try to heal and which parts of me I should forget about. Try to be my friend and make me realise that you are there for me even when you’re not and maybe then will I learn to trust you. I’m tired of going through relationships with people where I end up losing a part of me. I do not have much parts left to lose and I do not know when I will start feeling that I am no longer myself and decide to end it all.

It is hard to explain the perspective of a person looking down the barrel of a gun to a person who is holding the trigger. It’s harder still when I’m looking down the barrel while holding the trigger at the same time. And people may laugh that I talk about death and killing myself a lot. They might even consider me a coward for talking the talk and not walking the walk. But I just laugh along. Because I know that I have to take all of this as a joke. The day I start taking it seriously, the person holding the trigger does something out of perspective.

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