Its complicated

Its complicated. Its not that I don't want to talk to you. Yes you. You know who you are. Anyway, its not that I don't want to talk to you. Its that I don't want to talk to anyone. Anyone at all.

I know you are waiting for me to call. Probably wondering if I'm home yet. And I am. Have been for almost two hours. But I still can't bring myself to pick up the phone. I took a shower. Ate dinner. Walked the dogs. Fed the dogs. And the cat. And still... In the quiet, the silence of the house, I almost feel normal. I don't have to pretend. No one is here to care if I'm weird or not. And I know, absolutely know, that if I pick up the phone, that will end.

I cant make my voice sound not sad. Because I am. Sad. I cant be enthused because I'm not. I'm miserable and right now I cant pretend otherwise. If I call, you will wonder. Is it me? And its not. Its me, always me.

Its complicated. Language and words and speaking. I want to say that I want to die. I want to scream it. But I don't because I don't want to die. I want to live and stop feeling like this. I want someone, anyone, to fix it. There aren't words for this. There aren't words to make you understand.
Its complicated.