Malady of Mistrust

Cursed.

Am I cursed?

Cursed to tie myself to people, swearing that they’re going to be different.

Only for resentment to grow like ivy, sentencing me to a place of discontent.

I’ve called it paranoia.

Perhaps I am a magnet for those who aren’t right for me.

Loyal to a fault, only to be disappointed yet again.

Now I am always looking over my shoulder, trying to see the whispers I swear I can hear behind my back.

Now I overanalyze everything, every look, every joke, every laugh, every glance, every breath.

I find myself expecting to be betrayed again.

If I leave a conversation I expect that they are speaking about me the whole time I’m gone.

I get back and become a detective, trying to read between the lines, read faces like they’re books in foreign languages.

I read past diary entries, cringing as my past self gushes about people I can’t even look at anymore.

I pray every night that I will never feel this hatred towards my favorite people.

I let people think that they know me, that they can tell when I lie or fake a smile.

I laugh when I know they want me to, slinking back to the shadows of my mind until I am coaxed out again by people I have entrusted with my story.

When I am with them I let them take bricks out of the wall I built around myself, let myself tell them what I really think.

But even then, I still hold back some pieces.

I think myself insane for the mistrust I have in people.

Maybe someday I will no longer be

Cursed.