What’s a strong woman like?
I’d never thought of myself as being strong.
But sometimes I do.
Other people tell me I’m strong.
Unbelievably strong.
They’re surprised by this, by hearing about all of the things I’ve lived through.
But they haven’t. They’ve only heard of a few things.
Only the highlight reel.
I don’t think that’s strong.
It’s foolish.
I’ve been weak, allowing people to treat me badly.
Believed their bullshit and made it my own.
Weak enough to consider suicide over leaving.
I’m not strong, I’m lonely.
I’d beg someone to love me.
Lonely enough to hide who I am and how I feel so they won’t leave me.
I’d rather die than be alone.
That isn’t strength.
I’m good at acting sometimes though.
Good at faking strength by being loud.
Through humor and confrontation.
That’s still not strength.
And when it’s quiet in my house, and I’m all alone, I’d consider anything to break the silence and bring someone close to me.
I’d beg someone for love without limitations.
Put myself in danger.
Just keep moving and stay distracted.
I am not strong. I’m the weakest person I know.
To me, strength is the opposite of loneliness.
Maybe ’m just tired and need a nap.
My head hurts.
I feel messed up, like I should have done drugs but I haven’t.
I don’t function well when I’m tired. It makes me more lonely.
But I often feel the loneliest when I’m with someone else.
When they’re sitting next to me but don’t see me.
When I’m holding them and their eyes are closed.
When I’m talking and none of my words hit their ears.
Only it’s not okay to cry then, so I stuff my bra with tears.
Smile a fake smile and laugh a forced laugh.
Get that love I begged for, but they look away the whole time.
So I push my face into the pillows like it’s ecstasy.
When I’m really burying my sobs and fears.
Swing wildly between guarded and vulnerable.
I feel some high from being generous until it’s more than just an idea.
Then I panic and want to run away, hide.
I do both, and they notice and ask.
But what could I possibly say besides “I’m okay, really.”
Sometimes, I fantasize about being held by a man and sobbing.
Just letting out all of these fears as one murderous rain storm.
So it can clear off and genuine happiness can follow.
But tears scare men.
I scare men, I have too many secrets buried deep.
They want a girl who gives great blowjobs, can build a sandwich and is always happy.
Genuinely happy, movie happy but in real life.
I’m sad music sad.
I really just want to trust someone.
But I don’t even trust me.
