Talk.

So. We finally got a chance to talk in person today.
And I love him. I really do.
It makes my shit that much more complicated, and it makes seeing him become a chaos of emotions.
But. We talked.
Or tried at least.

Do you have any idea for as to how incapable I am when it comes to talking about emotions? Talking about anything that comes even remotely close to being personal?
I sat there. And I literally choked on the words that I was trying to get out
Clenching my fists, shifting my legs, shaking my head with jerking motions, and exclaiming exasperated and pained noises, trying to physically will myself to speak.

My spoken words don't feel good enough. They WERE NOT good enough.
We sat there, and I could feel his eyes on me, watching as I struggled to get the words out, tried to tell him the things he needed to hear. I didn't speak enough. My words weren't adequate enough. But I gave him a lot more than I could have given anyone else.

I believe that there really is something wrong with me. I get it, there are plenty of people who aren't capable of talking about their emotions. But I shouldn't have to physically will myself to utter and stutter through every sentence that I've got.

I love him. And he deserves better than a fucking stutter.
I know that I fucked up. I can't fix it. The whole thing was fucked up. I don't think we can fix it. No matter how much of my shit I can pull together, how many issues we can work our way through, I don't think we're capable of fixing it.

And that thought rips me to fucking shreds.
Beats the shit out of me, rips every last hair out of my head, breaks every damn bone in my body, and throws me to the curb, leaving me in a daze, having to find my car and pull myself back together here in the drivers seat.
I'm not okay. But I can wear a wig. Make a tourniquet. Put on a band-aid.
It's not a solution. But it conceals the worst of it.