I thought I could pretend.

I thought I could act like everything was normal.

I thought I could go back to before I knew better.

I picked a girl and gave myself a silly,

Harmless crush.

I told my friends, the people on this app,

About her as if I was jumping back to the days when it didn’t matter,

When it was all just for fun.

It couldn’t hurt anyone if the girl was someone I’m never even going to talk to.

I couldn’t get my heart broken.

I couldn’t get hurt,

Not the way I’m ripping my own heart apart.

Forget anyone else hurting me,

They don’t even have a chance before I do it myself.

So if I just gaslight myself into thinking I like someone harmless,

It’ll be fine, right?

I thought I could pretend it was fine.

I acted like I hadn’t just fucked everything up for, what, the fourth time?

Because this is what I do to things I love.

I tear them apart,

Set them on fire,

And in my despair

I launch a nuclear fucking bomb on anything salvageable.

I wait a while for life to be possible again,

Remember how great things used to be,

Nourish it and make everything I loved regrow,

And then oops,

I messed up again.

Why do I always do this?

I thought I could fix it.

I tried my very best.

I tried too hard.

It really is embarrassing,

It’s pathetic and childish.

There are some times when you’re meant to let things die.

Sometimes you’re not supposed to try your best.

Sometimes you can’t fix everything,

Even if you want to.

And damn, I want to.

But trying too hard can be worse than not trying enough.

I think Arthur got in my head,

Had me believing that caring and wanting something to work enough

Makes it possible.

Stupid fucking hope.

I thought, I thought, I thought

So much that my brain had to hit the emergency shutdown.

I had another anxiety attack,

The first in a while.

I thought until it all became mush in my mind,

Screams and whispers and shouts and cries,

Until the only thing I could do

Was grab the carpet

And try to keep my gasping breaths quiet.

I thought until the only thing I could focus on was my shaking,

The cold and tingly feeling running down my arms and back,

The tightness in my chest because my lungs forgot what oxygen was.

What if I stopped thinking and _felt_?

What if I said what I meant,

Asked the questions that burned into my brain?

What if I put it all in the line and stopped playing safe?

What if I got up and chased what I wanted,

Instead of wondering why it hasn’t come to me yet?

But that scares me.

Because what if I did everything I could,

And it still didn’t work?

No, I’d rather sit back and cling to my useless hope,

Even if it kills me.