mt vesuvius

i was raised in a household where i was told not to react.

reacting is the worst thing you can do.

if i felt anything, i wasn’t really supposed to show it

because that gave them what they wanted:

a reaction.

*

so i was expected to just sit and take the abuse

and the jokes

and the comments

and just not react.

*

because they were doing it to get a rise out of me

i wasn’t allowed to feel any type of way about it.

*

they could look me in the eye and call me a little crybaby bitch

and if i opened my mouth,

if i responded

or reacted in any way,

i was in the wrong.

for having feelings, i was in the wrong.

*

and there comes a time when that’s just gonna explode.

the pushing everything down to not react,

to be what’s expected of me,

that’s gonna overflow and erupt and it’s not gonna be pretty.

*

it might slosh,

might splash over a little;

just a couple slip ups.

but then it’s gonna erupt

and the world will end.

*

but just fucking once i want to be able to do something without thinking about how everyone else is being affected.

i want to react.

i want to have the chance to feel anything other than constant overwhelm.

*

i want one day

where my mental illnesses don’t band together.

i’m not even asking for it to stop

or to get better,

i just don’t want it to get worse.

i just want one day where everything is constant and nothing even happens.

i want peace.

*

but i get it,

that’s asking too much.

i shouldn’t have brought it up.

other people have it worse than me.

it won’t happen again.

i’m sorry;

it’s my fault.

*

i get it.

are you okay?

did that upset you?

yeah, i’m fine;

how are you, though?

*

i was raised in a household where i was told not to react,

where i was expected to just turn the other cheek,

where i wasn’t granted the freedom of an opinion

or the audacity to have emotion.

*

and that is how we ended up here:

with a world on fire

and a broken home.