What a joke.
The charade continues. I walk the line of caring and self-preservation but prefer not to participate. So I break down, but I don’t hide it well. Everyone sees what I try to pretend isn’t happening.
I’d love for things to go on without the grip around my throat, the bitter taste of toxicity posting on my tongue, or that gross influence whispering in your morning chats. But the Joker laughs and pierces us again. We let the Joker in without even a fight.
The bags we carry for each other are so heavy. My muscles ache under the weight. My brain throbs from the stress our these fights. My eyes burn from tears. Frankly, I’ve run out of tears to cry. My soul is numb to the Joker’s games even more. I won’t give in, but I won’t fight anymore.
I said that I couldn’t keep doing this. But here I am doing it again. The three-ring circus. The Joker is our ringmaster. The star of the show, and we are just supporting characters in their performance, so powerless in it all.
We carry each other’s past, each other’s troubles, and our insecurities. We see what is happening and how the Joker water those things and grows a garden of lies and deceit inside us. It festers and becomes a house of cancer and rot.
But there’s nothing we can do but play our parts. We hold one another through the hurts and weed what we can to help keep each other together. We so badly try to make each other “okay.” It’s the best we can do living this way. The Joker controlling our every move.
For a while, we bandage each other well enough. Some true healing. Some masked. The Joker focuses their efforts on you. I focus my efforts on myself. We drift apart.
We find some hope here and there in places that we didn’t have before. I search for help, and I get stronger and healthier. Before I knew it, I found some light in what was so dark. So for a time, we both seem to be a little lighter…even with you still being attacked.
We ease one another in ways we thought weren’t possible. Having one person as a lifeline helps, but the joke was on us. We were no match.
There is no safety here. I want to run away but can’t leave you behind for the Joker to kill. So we both become sick. We both don’t heal, and both don’t can’t try to escape. Not truly. We give in, too exhausted from the battle. The Joker commands and demands our will. We follow along, choking her on the smoke.
One stays busy climbing, busy with noise, and made-up fire drills. Repeated cycles and righteous victims. Busy with distractions and sweeping them under the rug. Louder voices and looking the other way.
I go outside, read, write, talk, and listen, and I do what I can to expel the Joker curse on my family through devotions every morning. I get somewhere sometimes… but I fall behind too.
We try, but we kid ourselves. The Joker whispering in your ear. Blurring our minds as she laughs in our faces. The game will never end until I kiss this earth goodbye. I must plan my escape.
We tried and came far so many times. But the Joker blows smoke, and we inhale. We lose. I lose. Even my love isn’t strong enough to beat the Joker.
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