Kicking your crosses down.

Inhale. The sunken feeling in your chest is suddenly stabbed back to life. You begin to wonder if anything is real. The pain in your chest can't be made up. Exhale. Your mind is chaos. Scrambling to think about one thing, or a million things. Nothing at all. Everything at once. "It'll get easier", you tell yourself. It has to, right? Inhale. Your eyes are closed, trying to sift through the vast junkyard of feelings and thoughts in your mind. Vision? Fuzzy. Things slowly start to come into focus. Exhale. Who are you? Not your name, what you like, what you dislike. Who are YOU? I am me, and you are you. Who am I? Inhale. The fuzziness of your vision subsides, and you see clearly. You're standing in a junkyard, alone. Alone. No one is there, but you. You're alone with your own thoughts and emotions. They've taken on a tangible form. Towering over you. Threatening to collapse on you. They stretch as far as the eye can see. You grow more anxious with each passing second. You chest screams with pain. Focus. Focus on something. Anything? Who am I? Exhale. Eyes open. You know the answer. You know who you are. You're the funny guy. Yes, the funny guy who uses humor as a way to deal with his own set of insecurities and issues. The guy who wears his heart on his sleeve, only to have people blow their noses on it. But the facade must be immaculate. No one can ever know these things, because...lets be honest here. YOU'RE the stable one. You're not massively intellectual; mainly having a strong and keen sense of "common sense" that transfers over to some facets of your life. But those that know you, know you as that "Funny, borderline Narcissist". Facade. In reality, you're the one with way to much empathy. The one people tell their problems to. You HAVE to remain the stable one that will always do what he can to help those he loves. Loves. To help the ones he loves, even if he knows they will end up disappointing him later. You can't even complain, because to them, you'll be considered spoiled or inconsiderate. You have your own problems too. You are incredibly lonely most of the time and have parents, friends, and loved ones who think you're doing ok. Truth is, you're lonely. The days seem to blend into one another, just one more preset period of time before you're on to the next thing. Inhale. The pain in your chest is still there. Constant. Knife being mercilessly driven into bone and flesh. Metaphorically, of course, because we both know the pain in your chest isn't physical. It's not physical in the least. They must never know. They can't, because you're a rock. You're THEIR rock. The damage revealed the cost,and it wasn't worth it. But they'll never know. They can't. Exhale. Your mind is clear, the junkyard decimated like a million sand castles against the tide. The pain in your chest is now nothing more than a bad thought. You can't help but wonder, however.....

Don't rocks need a rock too?

Breathe.