Numbing Myself

It’s cold. I’m not sure why. The weather predictions are useless these days, I tell you. They promised it wouldn’t rain. They promised it would be a sunny afternoon and a still evening. They promised you wouldn’t need your umbrella. Or a jacket. Liars.

It’s cold. I’m sitting in my jeans and t-shirt and as I type I can see the little hairs on my arms rise and stand tall. The waxing lady’s done a terrible job. Incompetent fools, everywhere.

I search ‘emotionally blocked’. I get search results of PTSD patients, how they survived the trauma, how they put their lives back together. They dealt with anorexia, death, war. How they learned to feel again. Ugh.

I refine my search. ‘How to become emotionally blocked’. The same results pop up. It looks like nobody searches for things like this. Happy fools.

I go back to my phone. No new messages. I re-read the last one he sent. “I’m sorry. I just can’t let anyone in yet. I’m emotionally blocked.”

It’s freezing. I put my phone aside and smirk. In my head I stand up, walk to my mirror, fix my hair and say out loud, ‘Alright bro. Whatever.’

But I’m still lying on my bed. And it’s getting colder. And something inside of me is changing. I feel  bricks. A boundary wall. Barbed wires. With the electricity and all that jazz running through them. My heart is cowering inside the wall. ‘Boundaries don’t keep others out, they fence you in’, it tells my brain.

This time I actually sit up. Smirk. Pat my heart and hear my brain say ‘That’s kind of like the point of it.’

Outside my room, my friend giggles in her boyfriend’s arms. It’s funny how a while back I’d have given anything to be in that position with the guy I liked. But now, thankfully, it’s cold.

Really really cold.

And I smile to myself. Because I don’t feel a thing.

 

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