A Canvas

It was during admin that I read that.

Can you believe it made me cry?
Yes, I suppose you can believe that.
I sat there in admin, crying. Tears just running down my cheeks.

I tell you that I love you.
And I mean it.
Always.
Every second.
Of every hour.
Of every day.
I love you.

I thank God everyday,
Thank-you God for giving me her.
For giving me my husband.
Because without her I would be lost.
Lost to the world.
Thank-you, thank-you God.

I’m glad that no one asked me what was wrong.
I have too much bad luck to believe that no one noticed.
I’m sick of telling everyone what’s wrong.
I’m sick of telling everyone everything.
It feels like I have nothing left for myself.

It felt good to cry. Even though I had to do it secretly, it was still good.
These past few days.. I’ve felt like I needed to cry.
But I can’t.
It feels like I have all this emotion bottled up inside of me.
But it actually isn’t any emotion at all.
Its actually more the opposite.
It feels like I have no emotion.

Yesterday.
I would laugh but I wasn’t laughing.
I would try and cry but I couldn’t.
I tried to be angry but it didn’t work.

I was just like a blank canvas, with nothing on it, not one little mark.
I was nothing.

I wanted to get this nothing out of me.
But how do you get nothing out of yourself?
You can’t.
You actually need to fill the empty space with something else.

But what if the space where everything had once been was just gone?
What if you were nothing anymore?

I wore make-up for the first time to school today.
I did it for a reason.
Not the reason I told everyone.

I did it because I wanted to put something on that blank canvas, to have something to present to everyone, for their sakes.
I don’t want them to be worried.
I wanted to change.
I didn’t want to be Stephanie.
Because she was too insecure, to strange and unpredictable.
So I was someone else, when I put that make-up on, and Stephanie, that insecure, strange, unpredictable girl, that blank canvas, was hidden underneath that layer of paint.
And everyone thought I was ok, and for that I'm glad.

I made a mistake yesterday of telling them how I really felt.
I think I scared them.
I don’t blame them though. That feeling scared me too.
It still does. Because it’s still there.

You know what I find strange?
In books,
They call it pain.
But it isn’t pain. Not for me.
It’s just a feeling, that takes up everything, every fibre of my being.
And I want it out.

I need it to be out of my body, I want to be rid of it, because its too foreign, it controls me too much, and I’m scared of it. But I don’t know how to get it out.
I tried yesterday with laughing.
But it just laughed back at me.
I tried it yesterday by being angry.
But it just put water on my fire.
I tried it yesterday by crying.
But it just rattled inside of me, made me shake, but it didn’t let me go.

It has a name, this feeling.
I like to call it fuck.
Because that’s what I feel like screaming out to the world.
That’s what I am.
I’m fucked.
I’m fucking stupid.
I’m a fucking arse hole.
I’m fucked.

I used to hate that word.
Now I love it.
It’s the only word that completely expresses me, everything that I’m feeling.

Fuck.