the threads in her head

Wounded.

Sounds extremely pathetic.

In the morning, where it is all brightness around, with the sun high up and big in the sky, filling the world with light and making me visible, I declare vehemently, no I am not! And then laugh, and smile, and run and skip around. I am not the one wounded, but the one whom the wounded come to. And in all my immaturity I promise to listen, and to understand, and to try to understand even if I don't. To realise how frustrated, and upset you are, how your mind is in a whirl, how your heart hurts, how coiled up you feel and share your burden, by looking quietly on, by being with you, by answering the questions you ask while doing your homework, by being your brain, your worker, your logical side that needs to get work done for a moment.

And to be hyper when you want it, to jump and skip into a high, to be the life of the party! Because when I don't I drag you all down, and make you all feel gloomy and dejected too, for in one's own happiness you can still be wounded, be hurt, be made gloomy by seeing the pathetic image of another slumped, in her full agony and pain. No rose-tinted glasses can make rosy the sight of a beggar picking at his sores and boils and scabs, wearing a weary face, with tired eyes, blood-shot and teary.

I do not want to be a burden, and this is the end result of it all. And some says an acquaintance is someone you know well enough to borrow from but not lend to, and others exclaim, "that's so true!" and yea, perhaps it is, but it seems to work the other way round for me, that I would be more than willing to lend all my stuff to another person I just know if I can afford it then, but dare not, dare not impose myself on the person.

As long as it will make you happy?

Yea, pretty much.

But seems like it's not something you can carry on for a long time. A few years, a few years, and it has taken its toll, and it's just that bit harder, to put on the..

Should I say mask? But, that sounds almost negative. It's not meant to be so. After all, it's only killing me, and I accept it willingly. It's not meant to be fake, insincere.

It's not..

At night the cover, the mask, the whatever-you-call-it drops, and I rant and vent, and then when I've cooled down, I realise again what I have done. I apologise for imposing on you. And I say a million sorrys and I keep thinking I should not keep imposing on you but but..

I cave the next night, because the whatever-you-call-it is actually quite draining. Funny, funny that I should only realise it now, but it felt fine, it felt glorious, because I wanted to be the caregiver. I still want to. But what is the net total of care now. What what is it. In the negative values perhaps? I can't have that!

I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm really fine, and then you ask, "am or will be" and I'm at first surprised when I realise the difference a change of words make, and if it would make you feel better, I'll keep the difference in mind.

When I think of all this one word comes to mind.

Insatiable.