Have you ever heard your parents say "oh, just suck it up, it's not that bad, you're being dramatic"?

I have. If there are any here who haven't, I envy you.

Bottles. Imagine every time you suppress an emotion, choke back tears, try so, so goddamn hard to miss that meal, but you're so fucking weak that you just.... can't. You can't take that razor to your wrist or thigh, you can't make it stop. It. Never. Stops. Never. Let's look at your bottle, the bottle that was so bone dry when you were young. Well, would you look at that? Your bottle of pain is full. You know what happens next don't you?

The bottle breaks.

The salty tears spill, and you're free, right?

Right?

No. Because you do not have a mere bottle, inside, deep in your heart, you hold a cellar. And what do you put in a cellar?

Wine. It ferments and grows and changes. But what happens when you leave too long?

You get vinegar.

And then your cellar fills with vinegar and you're drowning in tears and so you run.

You hide.

I am going to describe what this 'hiding' is.

It is living in a dream that you never wake from.

It is holding your soul on a string, as the last bits of everything that makes you you fades. You watch as day after day you plaster on that smile, and you are screaming for help but when a hand reaches out, when at last you are handed that olive branch, what do you do?

You put on that pretend smile, and say "no thanks, I'm fine."

And then you are once again screaming.
Screaming to drown out the whispers that push you towards a sweet, glorious, inevitable sleep, because you are afraid. It's why you choke down each meal, shove aside the thoughts that come every time you pick up a blade or lighter.

But some are not afraid.

The angels we don't deserve.

That is why they are gone, why they fly while we drown in an ocean of our making.

Blood and tears.

Blood

And

Tears

It's what controls us all. The salty liquids that we use to show that we hurt.

But why?

Why let them mix?

Why do we need these?

Because of one trait they share:

Salt.

It aggravates eyes and wounds, making them red and noticeable.

It is a hand reaching out to anyone begging

"Save me PLEASE"

And then,

silence.

Like a cancer. Growing, killing, incurable.

Why?

Why do they stay silent?

I don't know.

I wish I could have some kind of miracle, some sage advice that could make it stop.

But I don't.

So this is goodbye.

Except, it isn't. Because I am not brave. So I will pretend that this doesn't exist.

I will make you all laugh.

I will make you smile.

I will comfort you.

Because I do not have someone to do that for me.

And silence is something I would not wish upon my worst enemy.