Comfort

My mascara is black and it is claimed to be waterproof. I laugh on that. Waterproof. As I wipe the tears rushing down my cheeks, and spot a black liquid all over my cold fingers. This is a bad joke. 

But apparently my life had gotten used to make bad jokes at me, where I have to stand still and realize what is going on around me. 

Im sitting on my washroom floor once again and trying to figure out where I went wrong. I mean, it’s always like that. By now it has gotten so ironic, that I wonder what even the point of sitting here is. 

My naked back is touching the side of my cold bath tub and I have goosebumps all over my skin. I take a few breaths in sharply and I try to balance my breathing but I fail, due to the little whimpering coming out my mouth. 

Im holding my arms and pushing them together out of the cold there is. My hair is in the biggest mess there is, and my face is showing black lines of my mascara only. I look at my nailpolish that is coming off and I wonder if I am slowly coming off too. 

I mean, it’s always the same old story. Get pain, run to a place where no one can see you, and have a big breakdown. Then stand up, man up, and walk out with a huge smile. 

It’s not even pretending anymore. Its a damn habbit and I feel that his habbit has taken more of me than I can support. I hope to be able to overcome this and positive minded I stand up trembling and open the door to go to my room and put myself to bed. 

There is no one holding me, telling me to sleep, touching my hair and saying that “It will all be alright”. It’s me who is licking her own wounds in a sad and huge amount of time. 

No longer will I be enduring this pain. 

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