“You’re too emotional”
“You are weak”
“You aren’t good enough “
“You are not capable”
The bully screams at me
My knees hit the bathroom floor
Tears sting from the mascara and then run down my cheeks
We are not safe
We are not okay
They all know
They know how weak we are
They see what a broken thing we are
They all talk about it, our co-workers, our friends, our family
This is why you aren’t invited to things
This is why people don’t respond to messages
You are nothing but a burden, a problem; they would all prefer you would disappear.
And if they didn’t see your brokenness with their own eyes, then someone has told them.
Told them what an emotional wreck we are
They are all going to walk away
They are tired of hearing about your woes
We are not safe; don’t reach out because we are not safe
Anxiety screams at me as it grabs my lungs and clenches tight
All the air rips from me and I gasp, gasp for oxygen, gasp for safety
Run, run, run, we need to run
Or fight, maybe we should fight
Oh, I don’t know, I don’t know, maybe if we lie still the threat will pass.
My nervous system panics as it tries to see the invisible threat
My vision focuses in and out
Somewhere far away, something is trying to reboot all the systems
Yelling and screaming that there is no threat
My brain, my logic, trying to pull us all back together
But I am drowning, drowning, drowning
The world starts to slow
I can’t believe this is still happening
How long will I struggle with this?
I can’t blame others for being tired of me
I am tired of me
I lean my head against the bathroom wall
How many different bathrooms have I had to do this in
How many floors have I laid on in case I should pass out
I wish someone would tell the secret, whatever lesson everyone else got that I didn’t
How to cope, how to function, how to balance
How to hold feeling, stress, joy, passion, and courage all at the same time
How to feel but not be consumed
I am exhausted
From carrying the shield
Does everyone else have to carry a shield to keep their emotions in and others out?
Does everyone else have to consciously choose to feel the feeling but then put it in its proper place?
Maybe I have gone mad… or headed down that path.
It’s so cliché to blame it on my childhood, but is this another invisible wound?
“Just don’t feel so much,” someone once told me
“Okay, just breathe underwater” was the retort that came to mind
People still naively think I choose this, that I enjoy this
Slowly, all my systems return to normal as my brain resumes control
“Good,” I think to myself, not a full attack today
Comments from others come to mind
“ You need to learn to not get so worked up,” someone says
“ You take everything too seriously,” another says
“ You are so dramatic,” another adds
“ Okay, drama queen,” says another
“Maybe if you can’t handle the pressure, you are not right for this job,” says an old boss
“This is why, at the last job, you never got promoted; that boss saw you for what you are”
“You don’t have what it takes; you aren’t capable”
‘You’re fine; stop blowing everything out of proportion”
I look in the bathroom mirror, and all I see is brokenness
And a stamp on my forehead
“CPTSD and GAD; handle with care”
“Fragile; may explode at any moment “
I wouldn’t want to be friends with me either
Is therapy even working?
All those books?
All that prayer?
All those writing exercises
Am I still the same broken, emotionally unstable girl I was 8  years ago?
The panic attacks are fewer now; how long has it been ten months?
Even longer since the last full one, just these “mini attacks”
Does everyone else have to do this too?
Try to work, clean, get groceries, and live while arguing in your own head?
To function and get stuff done with all this noise
I don’t even bother to tell people about the attacks anymore
Even I think I should be past this
So why do I still have days like this?
Days where I have to leave events early or call in sick to work
Unable to keep my nervous system regulated
Days where I hide in my closet, making myself as small as possible
Wrapped in a blanket, rocking back and forth
Wishing I was 5 and my mommy could pick me up and hold me until I was calm
But I am not 5, I am 30
I am alone
 Sometimes I fall asleep curled up under my hanging clothes  
Then I wake up hours later, dazed and numb after crying myself to sleep
Part of me wants to reach out for help
But that is a dangerous game
It reveals safe people from unsafe
The safe ones who held me while I cried, refuted the lies of shame, and helped me regulate
And the ones who were indifferent, who gave me space to do what I needed to do with no judgment
From the unsafe ones
The ones who pass judgment, fracturing the friendship
Or the ones who freeze, looking at me in terror
Their message loud and clear, “You are too much,” as they walk away
Even if the safe ones were here, I don’t know how to explain all this
I don’t know how to tell them
The words always get stuck in my throat
I might be able to say “I am not okay,” but can never seem to explain how not okay I really am
Nor can I tell them what I need because I don’t even know
Besides, they are busy with husbands, children, jobs, and ministries
So I need to just find a way to be okay
Everyone needs me to be okay
No one has time for my theatrics
“Don’t be a burden,” that voice tells me
“Just get over yourself,” it continues
 I crawl out from under my clothes and go to find food
Sometimes it’s hard to live alone
Things only get done if I do them myself
I am not five; there is no one to bring my cheese crackers and Cran Grape juice.
No one to make soup when I am sick
No one to help with dinner or the dog when I am depressed
So I go to the kitchen and do it myself
“I would have brought you food,” I can sometimes hear my safe people say
“All you have to do is ask,” but I can’t ask, because what if they have to say no
What if they hit that old wound
The wound of expressing a need and being denied help
How often did that happen in childhood? My needs were unimportant
Until I learned to ignore my needs and serve others
I can’t risk being told no
“Don’t be a burden or inconvenience,” that voice reminds me
I sit at my table, munching on whatever is easily accessible and drinking water
Then the voice starts up again
“This is why you are still single,” says that voice again
“Who wants to go out with a wreck like you?”
I don’t even have the energy for a defense
How could I let someone marry a mess like me? Could anyone handle me?
“This is why friends make plans and don’t invite you”
“Who wants to hang out with someone so fragile, emotional, and annoying”
I wish I was more fun; I wish I could be normal sometimes
Is this my curse? To be liked, yet disliked, friendly but never friends
I stare at myself in my bathroom mirror, at the tear-stained face and smudged makeup
Will I always be this way?
Will I ever be able to explain all these feelings so others can understand?
Or is this my life? My curse?
To stand here frozen, unable to move forward
Will I ever get past this?
Ever feel whole?
Or is this my life