Conflicted

As night falls and the world outside my window begins to quiet, my mind races, caught in a storm of conflicting emotions. It's hard to find a starting point in this whirlwind of feelings. On one side, there's a burning desire for justice, for a reckoning that feels long overdue. This part of me craves the most profound revenge possible, a balancing of scales that seems the only appropriate response to the hurt and betrayal I've endured.

But then, there's another side—a softer, more caring side that can't help but worry about her well-being. Despite everything, I find myself hoping that she's safe, that she's warm, and that she's not going hungry. It's a strange contradiction, feeling such deep anger and yet being concerned for the very person who caused this turmoil. Soon, the full extent of her actions will come to light, and I'm holding onto the hope that the truth will shine through. I'm banking on justice to prevail, even though the thought of it brings a heaviness to my heart.

The idea of her facing the consequences, possibly having to leave, makes me feel sick. It's confusing to feel so torn, to love and hate someone so intensely at the same time. This puzzle of emotions is hard to navigate, leaving me wondering why anyone would choose punishment over understanding, especially when mental health struggles are part of the equation. Why turn your back on someone who's facing challenges that you yourself can relate to?

This inner conflict—wanting her to face the music for her actions yet fearing for her at the same time—is a tough battle. It's indicative of the complex journey we've been on, marked by moments of closeness and periods of profound betrayal. The irony of our situation, both of us dealing with our mental health issues and yet finding ourselves at such a juncture, is not lost on me.

Writing down these thoughts as the night wears on brings a small measure of peace. It's a way to navigate through the storm of my emotions, to make sense of the chaos. There's a part of me that hopes for a resolution where justice is served but also leaves room for healing and understanding. Until that day comes, I stand guard over my heart, weathering the storm within, yet hopeful for a morning where empathy and compassion break through the darkness, offering a new perspective on the pain and conflict that currently envelop me.

And then there’s this other part of me, the part I rarely let anyone see. It’s the side of me that’s tired, so profoundly tired of the constant struggle, of having to fight for every shred of happiness, for any semblance of peace in my life. This weariness isn’t just physical; it’s deep in my soul, an exhaustion that feels like it’s etched into the very fabric of my being.

I’m scared to admit this, even to myself, but there are moments when I wish for an end. The thought crosses my mind, dark and unwelcome, that I wish the next visit to the doctor would bring news of a terminal condition, that I only had a few months left. It’s a thought born from despair, from a place so dark within me that it frightens me to acknowledge its existence. It’s not really a longing for death, but a desperate need for relief from this relentless battle, from the pain and the struggles that seem to define my existence.

This confession is one of the hardest to make, a whisper in the night that speaks of my deepest fears and darkest moments. It’s a reflection of the exhaustion that comes from years of battling, not just with external circumstances, but with my own mind, with my own heart. It’s a silent scream for respite, for a moment of peace in a life that feels constantly besieged by storms.