No one knows

I can be myself here. I can tell the truth and never have to say, “I’m fine.” I can talk freely about it. About how even when I wake some mornings and I’m content, I can still feel it tapping silently behind my heart. I know it is there, waiting for something, anything, the tiniest hiccup in my day to claw its way out and spread like cancer through the dark bits inside of me. It spreads from behind my heart to my lung’s (it’s almost musical), it rushes to my head and then I am gone, rendered defenseless, helpless. People don’t understand it. It’s not an over reaction, it’s losing a battle in a long dark war. I know, ultimately, I won’t win this fight, I am already so tired. I know one day it will take me. My heart will decide it is time to stop pumping its poisons as strong as they had though. That will be the day that people will know that every time they asked how I was that the best I could do was spin lies, to grant them the freedom to doubt its existence. That will be the day that it finally decides to bleed me dry, the day it decides I have become too dull too lifeless to be important enough to resuscitate, the day it will finally free me from the dark and back into the light that I have missed so dearly.