It’s like that. Over and over again, on my ear, until it turns red. It stings. It’s hard to have people near me without thinking it’s them.
I don’t know where it’s coming from. It’s constant. Maybe it’s everywhere. And nowhere at the same time. Flick. Flick flick flick. It’s not you. What is it?
It’s distracting, and I can’t swat it away; the sting fades then it comes back. It’s a hurt, but it’s not an open wound, so I can’t see healing if it actually happens. I can’t trust what I feel. Thom Yorke and friends sing, “Just ’cause you feel it, doesn’t mean it’s there.”
“There’s always a siren singing you to shipwreck.”
I’m sorry. I’m sorry if I perceive completely innocent things you may say or do as offense. I’m sorry if I retaliate unduly, such as ranting passive-aggresively on my blog. I’m sorry for taking you for granted, for being completely self-absorbed.
The sting persists, but I don’t know how much longer I can withstand it. Some cool water, maybe a soft pillow. An ice pack. Time.
Please bear with me. I don’t want to drive you away. You’re not the flickers. Don’t let me flick at you.