I don’t want to think.
Why are the ones I know best the ones I know not at all? I look and listen and shudder at the discord. Who are you? I would like to say that is what dominates my mind. But, the creeping fear, doubt shadowing a daring trust, is what truly haunts my lonely thoughts.
Have I been used? What a silly question. If any have been used it has been a mutual usury. I can claim no innocence: my hand is as deeply delved as any other. Each stitch binding my heartstrings to this image of you was of my own hand. Yet I would blame if I could. I would vehemently deny my part and accuse you. Lying at your feet the burden I cannot stand to bear.
But do these dark thoughts, these doubts, stem from truth perceived? Perhaps from a false lesson learned long ago?
I would leave if I could! Cut off myself from you and live without the thoughts your presence inspires. Why do I continue to torture myself?
In and out, pull the loop through, single stitch, double stitch and back again. I dare not stop. I fear. I am so afraid. Tie up this fear, this worry, that wish and this hope: each knot constraining some thought I dare not think. And before I know it my thread it gone, yet still I am overwhelmed. I then pull from myself my own heartstrings to make the knots. In this futile attempt to remove all this from myself, I have only tied it closer to me.
Oh God, such sorrow consumes me, what guilt wracks my frame. What I would give to delve into another’s mind and read what is hidden there? But to what end? No knowledge there can ease my ache, can end the thoughts that so torture me. Let me live this lie, let me never face my reflection: that I might not see the haunted looks and shattered soul that lies there.
I do not want to think. I can’t handle what is whispered there.