I think I’m going insane. 

Not the kind that voids me of being a productive member of society and forces me to medicate pharmaceutically, just the kind that makes me cry on my drives home from work to songs that are other-wise meant for dancing. I used to chalk it up to mother nature; engulfing my hormones into a fiery inferno of mass hysteria every month like clock work. Making me eat chocolate chip cookies by the handfuls and overreacting about literal spilled milk. [I’m clumsy, it happens.]

But this, this isn’t my menstrual cycle anymore. This is a men-suck cycle; this is war. Some would say I ask for it. And those people aren’t totally wrong. I ask for the attention by way of social media, by the way I wear my makeup or the low top cut I adorn. I ask for it on the dating profiles I solicit; in the blog I post publicly for everyone to read. It’s funny cause I rarely get what I seek. The kind of attention that is more than just a hit off the pipe, the kind that starts as a friendly gesture and could manifest into a true connection but finds its way instead to be reckless and debilitating.

I may have asked for ‘it’, but ‘it’ is vastly different to two totally different people who’s lives have yet to collide on anything deeper than a filtered selfie and a couple of drunk late night “I miss you’s”. These days, I miss you is equivalent to “I miss your body”. I want you is just backwash for “I’m scared to be lonely”. It, to me, is always just some sort of foundation of reliability from an outsider. The ability to come together as two humans with similar interests and mutual respect. Day one, we’ve got it. Day thirty six, it’s gone. 

I wish people who plant trust-seeds in strangers’ hearts and forget to water them weren’t long for this world. I’d say I understand the idea of being selfish, but I really fucking don’t. Even people whom I don’t believe deserve a second more of my time, got it. Why? Because communication is the key to mental health stability. And everyone’s just walking around with all of the answers in their pockets; tight lipped…destroying society. You know what changes the whole game? Not even playing one. Just being as straight forward as it’s physically possible to be to make sure that every word you say is followed by a similar action.

Because, when things don’t make sense, and the world seems so very fucked…that’s when the mind gets weaker and the heart grows an aversion to love. And frankly, that’s all we ever need in this life. To love and be loved. The idea that someone can strip us of that possibility feels like murder: Death by coward; the one with the key. 

One thought on “The Coward With The Key

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