Psychic Freefall

I had thought that going home would solve my problems; I thought the silence would help me heal. I left everything to come back, only to realise how much I've lost. After having spent the week with my two separate families, my mum and two dads, I realise that when I walk through the brass gates, I am alone once more. Granted, I have never sought my parents out for help when I fall. Only once did I call X, a long time ago when I left my mum's place in tears. He came roaring down in his pickup. At 1 in the morning. Brought me back to his place, made me eat vegetable soup of all things, then told me to sleep, and that he would take care of everything. Years and years ago, yet as clear as yesterday to me. I'm falling. I'm falling and I don't know if I can even find the strength to scream for help, an urgent cry for angels unseen. Being home last night, being with X over the past week, reminded me of what I stand to lose. Conversations with X have become a subtle battlefield, veiled barbs flying out from both of us. I flinch everytime he looks at me, I run away everytime he brushes close to me, and I try my hardest to keep that distance between us. What can I do? My other dad was pleased that I made an effort to stay for dinner, going through the formalities for his sake. I damn my inability to express what I truly feel to the people who truly matter. Faced with them, in that one indescribable moment, I either break down completely or run hard and fast. I realised last night as I sat down at the dinner table with my parents, all three of them, that I do love them. My two fathers, and my mum. My mum cooked my favourite dish, and my dad made fruit juice. Why is it the smallest gestures seem so monumental to me, yet I can't even bring myself to tell them how much they mean to me? All our petty bickering, our many fights over the years dim in the light of what I felt yesterday. My parents' parting words to me are always, "Come back soon." And always I nod silently, without meeting their eyes, flying away on wings of frost and crystal, the famed ice prince. Cold and dispassionate, but capable of turning scorching hot in the blink of an eye when crossed. Do I view emotion as a sign of weakness? Yes. Without hesitation, yes. It is a terrible weakness to me. Perhaps that is why I feel so stupidly weak on this cold morning, alone in this empty void. The walls are suddenly so much bigger, and I feel so much smaller. The house is silent without the cats' soft morning calls, so much colder without the warmth of family. I don't know how X sees me now, and I don't think I want to. As dawn's chariot touches down on earth this morning, I fall into the pit of memories, bittersweet and overwhelming. What do I need, really? As I fall further and further, what can lift me back up from the darkness which has claimed my soul? Why do I withdraw, and push away everyone who tries to help? Can they help? Can I deaden these emotions which leave me dazed and confused? These things that I have rarely felt before, things that make me weep for a thousand mistakes in a single lifetime. Four words ghost through my mind, faint but nevertheless discernible. "What have I done?"
A night without armor.