Do you ever get sick of yourself?

Not in a depressing, melancholic, “boo-hoo-my-life-sucks why does no one GET ME? WHY AM I NEVER ENOUGH?” kind of way, but in the way that

that is all that your Insides are screaming. That is the gist of what all of your Insides are screaming in unified cacophony because they’re sick of being pulled to the surface that they can’t stand being reminded of because it makes them recede back into Yourself. But they nervously let you pull them to the surface and the introversion you’ve gotten them used to rumbles in the pit of your stomach, hungry for that satisfied feeling of the colors of your Insides flourishing in all of the comfort that comes from the familiarity you cleave to your chest to regulate your heart beat away from pounding like a drum that calls attention to you and your flaming cheeks filled with the blood of excitement pumped from the heart that doesn’t want to be yours anymore because your digustingly introverted tendencies deprive it of beating in sync with anyone else’s.

So your Insides are in protest. They don’t get it. They don’t get why you’re never good enough. They don’t get why their efforts of backing you up go ignored, unnoticed, unappreciated and unreciprocated. They don’t get why the words you replace the blood in your veins with don’t spill into your respiratory system and out of your mouth every once in awhile, because they’re sick of hearing them all the time. “Share them with someone else!” they say—

They yell. Among other things, in the cacophony. 

I swallow the words they’re sick of hearing and they wallow in the sea of self pity that crashes at the end of my throat. They yell and spit and splash, hoping to push a tear out of my eye

because how else are they going to get anything out of me?

But I do not cry.

I am sick of them. I am sick of their voices. I am sick of myself. I am sick of everything that is going on in my head. I am sick of being my own handicap but blaming everyone else for it. I’m trying to swim up that waterfall of words I keep swallowing, but I keep crashing down at the bottom and Inside the cacophony of my Insides until I’m drowning and I can’t find my way out

and every time I reach out for a hand from the outside, the cacophony turns into a murmur of excited curiosity

until my hands get slippery with the words I’ve tried to arrange in a combination I thought would help me hold on a bit longer, but have actually sabotaged me, pushing me back down into the cacophony.

It’s enough to want me to never share my words again.

Until I realize that I should stop reaching for a hand, and start hanging on to my words and letting them take me where I want to go, because they’re flowing on a current of their own. I just have to jump in and swim.

But for now I’m stuck at the bottom of my throat, the words I keep swallowing, crashing over me and all of my Insides pulling me under with them until I can see nothing but the sludge of self-pity polluting my insides and fogging everything up so that I can’t make my way to the surface and to the raft that will guide me to the words that will take me far away from all of this

I just want to be far away from all of this noise inside of me. I just want to be far away from myself

because I’m pissing myself off.