Perplexed

I don’t know why I’m here again. Not here, on my bed, in my room, at home… But here, this ‘place’ that I hate. The place where wild confusion and unpredictable tears rule. I promised I wouldn’t put myself in this position again; ‘I’m not being fair to me’, I decided. Sitting here I’m mulling over the past but not in my usual clear-sighted logical self-analysing way. My thoughts are clouded and often partially lost in a fug of my current headache and the aftereffects of crying.

 

One decision. One phrase. One answer, wrong choice. It’s always incorrect. I can never be right. This isn’t a fault in my patterns of thought, a psychological issue that needs to be diagnosed. It’s the pain, the exhaustion, the never ending confusion. I want to be free and make a choice without wondering at the consequences in a few hours, days or even weeks.

 

I don’t want to hurt anybody, I don’t want to spend all the money I can lay my hands on to buy some designer item that clings to the current fad by being both ridiculously expensive and seemingly affordable to teens with an allowance to save. My point being that I am not talking about decisions that everybody struggles with or are predestined to be disappointed with. I need to be free to say ‘yes’ to that afternoon stroll or coffee, the day trip to London, even sitting on someone else’s bed and searching the shops of the internet for the perfect date dress so my friend will look her most stunning. Little things, harmless things, the ones everybody should be entitled to.

 

I want to enjoy the things I love; the little things. This means I lied to you: I am not confused, unsure or Perplexed. I am certain. I want what I can’t have but in this world we are taught that there is always a way so my broken body tries in vain to fuel my mind, to get it going to making the right decision. The decision that will solve everything, that ‘right’ choice that I can assure you I will never find, much less make.

 

So I am sorry. Sorry if I said no and you’re kicking through Autumn leaves with somebody else. Maybe you didn’t even ask me? Maybe you know. I’m sorry if I had to tell you that the coffee often makes me feel sick. I’m so so sorry that I can’t get on the tube with you and have the kind of adventure that makes us feel like we’re living straight out of a teen fiction novel. And I am of course sorry if the light from your laptop was too bright for my eyes, or if you felt you couldn’t ask me for help because I have bigger problems of my own. And yeah, I’m sorry that if we do meet up you have to push my wheelchair. Guess what? Most of all, I am sorry I messed you around. This isn’t who I am it’s just that tomorrow it might be.

 

Sakara.

 

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