I’m not going to lie. I’m scared.
My body thinks it’s time to stop functioning. It’s fed up, and it’s shutting down. Independently of me. Against my will. To protect itself, I guess, mostly against myself.
Maybe if I take better care of it. Maybe if I feed it better, rest it better, pamper it better. Maybe if I stop internalizing everything, controlling everything, carrying everything.
Maybe it will heal. Maybe it will open up again.
But I’m scared it might not. I’m scared this might be the quality of the time I have left – flat on my back, more often than not. By myself, more often than not. Crying, bleeding, aching … more often than not.
All because I treated me the way other people treated me. Started talking to myself the way they talked to me. Accepted everything they threw at me.
I’m scared I might not be able to change that. Scared that even if I can change how I treat myself, I won’t be able to cope with how other people treat me. Scared because I’m not sure I even care anymore.