She Never Knew How to Tell Him

She never knew how to tell him, so she didn't. He knew something was wrong, but no matter how hard he tried or how often he asked she wouldn't tell him anything. He could see her pulling away, feel her pulling away. She was with him physically, she would still talk to him, still lay by his side at night when she slept, still laugh at his jokes, still hold his one of his fingers when she could. But she wasn't with him mentally. She didn't tell him her fears anymore, she wouldn't tell him her problems, or when she wanted to do something dangerous. She wouldn't tell him her worries. She would talk with him but not about anything really important or about her. She still laughed with him, but her laugh was different, it didn't have the same life, the same spark.

She didn't want to tell him her struggles anymore. She didn't want him to worry about her, didn't want him to know just how far her self-hatred really went. How deeply rooted in her mind it really was. How every time anyone got just a little glimpse of it, they would tell her that she scared them. She couldn't do that to him.... But she already had.... And she hated herself for that. She had scared him once already; let him see the one mark she had made, the first mark she had made in months. A mark she made because those feelings she tries to hide so deep came clawing back to the surface. Feelings she thought she had locked away for good. But feelings of being nothing, of being worthless, of feeling like trash are hard to lock away when it turns out they have a spark of truth in them. The mark that was mad, the mark he hates, was made because of her, was made so later more wouldn't have to be done. She doesn't want him to see anymore, doesn't want to do it anymore, but her method is the base line, the first step, the least dangerous way. It's the first in a line, in a line that has never been past the first step, although every step increases the danger. She doesn't want him to know, doesn't want anyone to know. No one needs to know her pain; no one needs to carry her burden, no one but her.

It seems like she is trying to keep him at arm's length, or pushing him away with all she has. When in reality she doesn't know how to let him in any more than she already has. To let him in any father would be to not know. As of now she has let him in as far as she has let anyone else, so she know how it will feel if he was to disappear, to let him in farther would be to not know how hurt she could become. To let him in farther would be to tell him everything, to let him explore, and to let him ask anything he wants and for him to get a real answer. To let him in more would be to not hide from him, to stop hiding from him what has always been hidden. To let him in would be to let him see, to let him behind all the walls, behind the masks. To let him in would be to let him into the unknown. She is terrified of this, as terrified as she is to tell him of her deepest fears. She is terrified because she doesn't want to lose him, she doesn't want to disappoint him, she doesn't want him to get annoyed or tired of her and her fears. She feels like a disappointment in his eyes, she feels like she isn't good enough for him. She knows she isn't good enough for him. She knows she can't tell him any of this, he isn't ready to know all this yet, or maybe it's that she isn't ready to know how he will react to this. But maybe she needs to know; maybe he needs to be told. But how can you tell someone you love all that you are scared to tell them.

She didn't know how to tell him, so she didn't say a thing, he knew something was wrong, he could see her pulling away, feel her pulling away, and he didn't know how to stop it, he didn't know what was wrong.