Unbreakable Heart

Fingers Pointing

The lies they sang, the mirages painted on my bedroom walls. Beliefs that are too near core to be discarded. Flowers that grow in undernourished grounds cannot reach highest potential, despite how much you scream and beg them to. They don't have the nutrients they require, nor the space and weather on their side. A drought won't create an ocean, a fire won't rebuild a forest - even if in your eyes you expect them to. In life there isn't an undo button, no keyboard with Ctrl or Z, no return box you can click on and hope for a restart. You brag to seventy seven skies how good of a person you are. As if the bigger the number the bigger the reality. You tell me to keep my door open but lock yours twelve times, while rejoicing in a secure hotel room. Do you sense your own hypocrisy? Because the stench is what keeps me awake at night, when you sleep - conscience lighter than a feather.

I leave one hour of my time for regrowth. A selfish experience to the life surrounding me - a prescription to the actually humanly empathetic eyes. Blurt out the experiences that were on repeat throughout the times, scream out the words whispered on heavy layers to me, and cry out the tears you blocked from my eyes on multiple ocasions. I forget too easily, speak too lightly, resent too often. This anger you complain off - the one you paint as unrelated and childish. The one that peaks in shopping malls, supermarkets, living rooms and green parks. The one that seems to come out of nowhere in a good afternoon with just a small mistake. It's not sudden nor exageratted. It's not for pretend nor for show. Please look in the mirror before fingers are pointed in my direction.

They do say 'when you point one finger, you have three pointing at you' - but it's too easy to form a hand with one index finger stretched out, than to use both hands to fix your problems. So the time I spend on myself, in that closed therapist office is not just for 'show'. The difficult decisions you deem as 'stemming from stupidity' were the most stressful and necessary ones. They brought be down before building me up. Putting my foot down and pulling your wallpaper from my bedroom was a hard task, but a needed one to see the messages left behind. I may still face the demons I should kick out the door, though not all steps can be taken in one single mission. Sometimes being sane and healthy means knowing which battles you can fight, which you have to pause and which ones to reschedule for future.

14th July, 2018

Don't touch me.

My warnings aren't simple expressions used to prove my awkwardness. They aren't my weak flower-like nature saying 'hello' or my given sign that I am ticklish. They are not an invitation written in a greeting card. They are a red sticker on my door reminding you, to mind your fingertips when approaching my figure.
Laughter doesn't make it okay.
The human body is a tricky machine, when faced with a threat may keep on giggling and not alert to its panic. It's not an acceptance of more actions. Being ticklish isn't a green light to act in child-like ways. So when my voice gets loud, my arms heavy and waving, or my hands turn into fists - don't blame my emotions. Don't say "I asked for it". Don't expect me to apologize.
I have warned you.
Multiple times in fact.
Wanting to laugh, finding it funny or it being a child doesn't invalidate the fact I asked you not to. I demanded you not. I warned, begged and sometimes yelled - for you, not to. I make it as clear as water, and you still confuse it for wine.

Don't tell your children to tickle me.
If I yell, push them or "traumatize" them as some may say, let it be clear in your mind I told them not. I asked them - and you - not to. Teach your children boundaries as much as you care about their personal consent. Third party consent matters as well.
Tickling can be panic attack inducing.
Come and fight me on that, you won't change my mind.
Touch can be triggering. Doesn't have to involve sexual intention or be a slap in the face, can just me an arm around my shoulders or your leg slightly against mine while sitting in a car trip. Doesn't mean I hate you, love you, despise you or fear you. Doesn't mean it will work as clock-work. Touch therefor flashbacks, isn't the case. But it does mean that when it happens.. when I warn you, loud and clear.. I expect you to react in a humanly and adult appropriate way.

Saying "I didn't know" doesn't work at the hundrenth time.
Blaming me for "not being fun" won't make it go away.
Pointing at a child and shaming me because "they like it" won't make it okay.

But the sad truth is until you, like many others, see me explode in the most realistic reaction you will ever witness, you won't believe me. Because most people have, and the looks on their faces switch immediatly. Not a good sight on my side, either.

When my voice goes from a laughter into an ear piercing scream of curse words and hate. When my whole body is shaking and my breathing is shallow. When I slap you while trying to escape, or get up so quickly from my chair it falls back. When my eyes seem to resemble REM sleep during a nightmare. That is when reality hits people hard.

Just remember while you think apologizing makes up for it, I am the one managing the panic in my body after I am alone. Just remember, when that image is in your horizon, that it all could've been prevented.

If only, when I asked you to, you didn't touch me.

It's not that difficult of a concept.