the wall

The most honest things I can say right now are that I'm struggling to figure out how to make amends. I don't really know what that means. I apologized to someone and she forgave me. She understood why I apologized but she didn't think it was necessary. Why did I feel conflicted? Why could I not forgive myself? I was looking for her to give me absolution. I still think about it. I cringe at the flashbacks. Wildy drunk, trying to run away but staying right where I was. Speaking to people in the hopes that they'll give me something they can not. Because I showed no hints. I only showed them how broken I was, and hoped they would fix me. But I would've rejected their pity. I wasn't broken. I was scared. Scared of the world. The depths of each individual around me compared to my own. The words that flowed effortlessly from their foundation. Mine stumbled, came out wrong, or not at all. When conversation got real, I'd stare at the wall. Reminding me of when I was a child. Being yelled at or talked to. I'd stare at the wall.