The Broken One

 Blank page.

Filled with so much emotion that all I can do is stare.

Nothing coming from the brain to the fingertips to let any of it out.

Befuddled.

Once it stopped flowing out physically, mentally you're shut down.

Ten years of recovery, all to have it ripped away with one call.

The day that I knew was coming came.

All the suppressed memories, the anguish, the hatred, loathing.

Some pressed down, some healed over.

Open.  Bleeding.  Crying.

Everyone knows now.

It's not all in my head, though I seem to be the only one who remembers.

I'm not the only one.

Numbed.

I had gotten used to seeing this side of you.

I was the only one you showed it to.

It's nothing new.

If there was ever a time that I didn't mind playing the villain.

This.

The one who is most broken holds everything together the best.

I wash my hands of it all.

I read once that most of us are simply getting over bad emotional habits established within the first ten years of our lives and that is why we suck at relationships so badly.  I don't know about you, but I concur.