Lost Tears

Dear diary,

I haven't written to you for so long, forgive me. I didn't forget you, not once, but I forgot the words.
I remember the cocoon of strength I worked hard to weave around myself, the shy skin I shed off as I forced myself to become louder, act more confident, bubbly and joyful, deflecting teasing comments or mindless tact with patience. The wells of tears that I scorched dry and only allowed to sear me in the safety of the night.
Someone seems to have ripped my cocoon open and tossed me into the wilderness. I lie shivering, naked without my defences, vulnerable. Words assault me and dent into my skin, leaving visible bleeding wounds. The tears that I painstakingly learnt to control, the valve of flow that I shut during the day malfunctioned and now they flow freely day and night. A simple friendly teasing word has me in spasms of sobbing, a slight comment has me bristling in hurt and pity. Everything you say is likely to make me cry.

I'm so tired diary. Nobody knows exactly how tired I am. I feel sanity seeping between my fingers, my grip loosening and weakening. I feel like I've opened my own pandora's box of emotions and I watch them helplessly as they swirl tantalisingly around me, parading every nuance and highlighting weaknesses.
I wish I could close the box. I wish my tears could stop. I wish my optimism would come back. I wish I could control my weakness, I wish I could grow a thick skin. I wish I could learn how to not care anymore. I wish I could remember how to smile. I wish, but most of all, what I really wish, is for rest. Won't you tell me how? And why? Who will give me answers? I shout the questions out loudly into the darkness...and all I hear back are the answering echos. Alone with no help, no answers, only me and my tears for company.

All I can do is wait.