It piles on and when I finally crumble under the weight of it, it's far too much to take.
I joke about it all the time,  "I'm pretty much the master of not dealing with things."
I joke but it a serious thing. I deal with nothing and and let it pile on.  Until eventually, I crumble. I take a long hot shower, my skin turns red. One  minute  passes by then another and another.  Soon enough the tears start to fall, and I can't stop them. **** the **** is broken, all the feelings left unspoken, coming out in waves. Dude get it together. You can't fall apart, you aren't weak, well maybe you are. So I take a deep breath in, release, it move on. The only thing your good at is pretending you are fine. So **** it the **** up move on.  Your strength sets with the sun, go to bed early, let the tears all fall. Let the thoughts bounce all around in your skull. When it's dark, it's easier to crumble. When it's dark and you are alone, there's no need for walls.

You would know that voice anywhere,
The deep, loud sound, that has always instilled fear.
The kind of fear that makes your blood run cold and hot. The kind that freezes you on the spot. Too paralyzed in fear.  Takes the very breath from your lungs.
You know those eyes, the same ones that were always too close. The ones that looked upon you with the most hate you have ever seen.  Eyes so close, voice so loud. You can't move fear roots you to the spot.
You don't know what the monster is saying, but it's occupying all of your thoughts.
You've tried so hard to detach from the monster, to remove it from yourself.
Eventually, someone points it out, so you look in the mirror, and take a long good look at yourself.
What you see looking back is the one thing you've tried so hard not to become.
The monster inside.

There's no need to remind me.
I already know.
I struggle with this more than
Anyone would know.
Many hours spent thinking and alone.
There's no need to remind me.
I know too well.
My existence is useless.
An absolute waste.
Please, stop reminding me,
I already know.

Everything is right where I left it. It's been so long, I feel the weight in my palm. Cool metal, and plastic against hot, cold, clammy hands. Hearing the slider click to open.
Click
Click
Click
Waves of nostalgia ripple, like waves in the ocean. While it's just in my hand, I can feel the Peace of being split open. So many years being clean, want to fall out of the window and drown in the ocean. I want to know, does it help the same? Will it dull the pain? It's calling out to me,  it knows what I've done. I wonder if I can stop at just one?

Hollowed out, the shell of a person. Emptied out nothing left inside