late night thoughts: untold, unasked, unsolved issues

I am standing now near my teddy bear, smelling like my sister after spraying her perfume to remember her while hugging it and writing this long-awaited letter, scratching my left hand, which is annoyingly itchy and tingly. 

Having a build up anger towards someone is like a bag that you carry everywhere with you, full of rocks. It is exhausting to a point, especially if that build up is towards a parent. Even though they haven’t directly hurt you, that bag is still there. There are still little pebbles and sometimes rocks added into the bag. 

Every sentence, every smile, every hug, every kiss, every show of affection is repulsive to you. Responding back with “I love you, too.”; 1 sentence, 4 words, 11 letters, is still an extremely tiring “job”. And even after you show the courage to finally get those words out of your mouth, the silence after it swallows you. You realize that those words did not mean the same as it meant to them. You realize they did not realize you struggled to say it. And you finally realized how tired you are, to say those 4 words. 

You remember why it is hard to say that sentence but then recall the “good times” and hate yourself. You feel like you are exaggerating and start to pity them. You pity them because they have you. All of a sudden the problem isn’t them, but your selfish, immature, endless anger. Then, they show you why exactly you have that anger. Now, you know that you were right. Then it is all again a chain. 

You feel the difference of feelings when hugging. You realize, while hugging someone else it feels like a comfort, and while hugging them, it feels like pity.