#I can only write paragraphs at a time without feeling emotionally unwell.

[mariistyping]

Nothing like crying while re reading the few sentences I wrote of this stupid fic.

I just have so many feelings about emotional repressed but so in love law.

#one piece #trafalgar law #trafalgar d water law #curse my crybaby ass. #ain’t no way I can write a full length story like I want. #I want chapters of this shit. #I can only write paragraphs at a time without feeling emotionally unwell.

[probablynauseous]

I actively avoided my deepest feelings

“don’t”, I’d say to myself

“don’t listen to that song. don’t think about those words. don’t watch that show, that film. don’t think about it. don’t sing. don’t write. don’t paint.”

“don’t sob into those kisses don’t hold that face, forehead to forehead, and weep thin fingers softly gripping onto the one you want to trust to see you in this way, breaking down, unraveling, like satin ribbons, revealing this tiny body, naked, pretty, soft, and ailing”

“don’t, because it will all pass anyway- so why bother? why create such an intense, traumatic moment, a horrible mess? why create such discomfort for this other person? the one you swore to protect?”

they’ll say they want to help.

“never apologize for feeling how you feel” “I will always be there for you”

they’d all say those things, in the same way you would to them.

but they don’t really want to help, you’d convince yourself; they think they do, because it’s the right thing to say, the kind thing to say. and these are good people.

but your breakdowns are always messy in their purest form

messy, messy, messy no one likes messy

orderly, orderly, orderly a home where everything has a place. everyone likes a home like that.

best to avoid it altogether. best to keep it to yourself.

because you have a job to do. you have papers to write. research to conduct. classes, appointments, responsibilities. 

people to protect. people to hold, to tell them:

“never apologize for feeling how you feel” “I will always be there for you”

the same things they say to me... except, I actually believe it when I say it, because I know I’m capable. but are they? are they truly? is anyone?

is it arrogant, to stand in this position, believing I am the rock of my family, of my friends, too worried to let them see that their rock has cracks in it? to claim that I have this great, infinite ability to bear the brunt of everyone’s pain, because I can rationalize it? 

I operate under this sensation that I am capable of ANYTHING. obviously!!! but am I capable of continuing to swallow all of this, without letting it out?

even in my lowest moments, I never stop moving. maybe that’s why I don’t let myself believe that I am truly unwell.

i’m fine, it’s fine, i’m fine, it’s fine

I repeat and repeat and tack on to the end of every emotionally revealing paragraph. 

because because because

I don’t want anyone else to worry. I don’t want to cause any rifts, any pain, any additional trauma to this already traumatic life we all live.

I know I’m always fine in the end, so it’s a waste of their time and emotional space to worry about someone who is always going to be ok.

I’m capable of anything. i’ve always felt that way. so it’s always going to be fine, i’m always going to be fine! so don’t bother bearing this with me seriously, i’ve got it. 

but

I look to my mother.

and I remember those times where she would break down to her tiny children- not her husband, not her family, not her friends, not a therapist- her children: the only people she felt she could trust entirely, vent to entirely. 

thin fingers softly gripping onto the two tiny, worried children, the ones you want to trust to see you in this way, breaking down, unraveling, like satin ribbons, revealing a mother’s body, naked, pretty, soft, and ailing

it hurt to be me, during those moments. it hurt to be daniel.  is that who I am becoming?

mother, mother, mother “I am fine, it will always be fine”

did I get this from you?

there has just got to be a better way.

#words