For emotional wear-out to manifest itself physically?
If so, then it’s starting at my knees… Sorry mom. Knee caps are wearing out anyway, from running away from everything that scared me so. Running away from me. I see the fear in your eyes, you know. When you look at me. I see it. You, scared of me, of what I might turn out to be, what I might end up doing. And you’re scared for me, too. I can see it. I’ve always seen it. Maybe it’s my fear of myself reflected in your eyes. Or maybe I started being scared of myself because of the fear I saw. Maybe it’s both. Who knows?
I know what will be next. My hands. My hands will wear away from the harm they’ve done. To me. To anything and anyone else. Or rather, everything and everyone else. It’ll start at my fingertips that clutched blades, typed words, held, touched, hit. Then my knuckles, that tried to shatter walls in fury and pain and anger that I refused to let out to anyone else. Never them.
My mouth and tongue, too. From lack of use and too much use both at the same time. Harsh words spoken, and words bit back in fear, clutching at self-control with only the tips of my fingers so the words can be swallowed down to make a home in my heart and stay there, eating away.
My eyes. Dark and closed off. Eyes are the window the soul, it is said. I keep mine hidden away, and the blinds are closed, sorry. You won’t see that devastation so easily. That smoke and wreckage are no sight for anyone. She used to say that she could never see anything in my eyes. She could never read them, even when I tried to let her. Tried to show her. Only two things could she ever decipher. Pain and Passion. And both hurt her to see. Yes, they will wear away too. They have been denied their duty, after all. To reveal just as much as they observe. I made them selfish. Taking in, but never giving out.
My shoulders, from the burden I myself placed on them, and have now become too scared to ever take it off them for fear of the consequences. And fear that someone else might have to take it up in replacement.
Oh, and of course, my heart. I say nothing of it. There’s nothing I could say, no way I could describe it that could quite convey its true form. It… It won’t wear out. Because it already is, bit by bit. No. It will shatter.
One day. One day it will shatter. It will trigger a chain reaction of explosions; the rest of me will be in splinters and shards. When it happens, I will lay there in all my pieces and wait until I turn to minute dust, to be blown away in the wind and vanish forever.
In the meantime, I am wearing away, bit by bit by bit.
Shhh… It’s a secret. Until I’m ready to say my goodbyes.