Last night I fell apart. I sat in my kitchen and cried – silently so K wouldn’t hear me – for about an hour. Sitting at the table, I sobbed and snotted and crumpled into a messy heap. I’m not sure why.
I’m not sure which is worse – to cry in front of someone and be embarrassed or to cry alone, which I think is one of the most lonely feelings.
I don’t often cry. It’s something I don’t like to do and no matter how many times people tell me otherwise, I still see it as a sign of weakness in myself.
All I wanted last night was a hug. Which is odd because I don’t normally like physical contact. I didn’t get one, there was nobody here to do it – I could have asked K but didn’t want her to see me like that.
I don’t understand what is happening to me but I hate it. I hate being too scared to do things. I hate being scared of myself. I am used to my world unraveling while I watch, but to feel myself unraveling is different and not in a good way.