I Learned to Sit Still Since It Hurt Less that Way

I Learned to Sit Still Since It Hurt Less that Way

I Learned to Sit Still Since It Hurt Less that Way
They told me stillness was a virtue,
that calm was strength, and silence truth.
But no one asked why I stopped moving,
Why I froze instead of speaking youth.
I didn’t stop since I healed—
I stopped since movement revealed.
Every twitch invited questions I couldn’t bear,
Every breath too deep turned into a stare.
So I learned to fold my hands just right,
To nod when spoken to, soft and light.
To stare past windows, never through,
To answer, “Fine,” like it was true.
I learned to sit still since it hurt less that way,
When I froze, they stopped trying to change what I’d say.
Stillness meant fewer notes, fewer pills,
And a smile drawn ne between the drills.
It wasn’t peace.
It was just the safest place I could stay.
I counted tiles instead of days,
Traced cracks instead of finding ways.
Since the moment I’d shift, or laugh, or blink—
They’d tighten the walls and start to think.
And thoughts led to charts, and charts led to tests,
And questions that burned through my chest.
So I stayed frozen, perfect, numb—
And they clapped like healing had finally come.
I learned to sit still since it quieted the room,
No more shouting, no more doom.
Stillness became my padded skin,
The mask I wore so they’d let me win.
But I wasn’t free.
I just stopped showing I’d lost the way.
One nurse said, “Look how far you’ve come,”
As I stared like wallpaper and sucked my thumb.
And all I could think was—if I moved again,
Would they start all over. With the same old pen?
So I breathe just right and blink on cue,
Speak like ghosts they can’t see through.
But I remember the flinch, I remember the price—
And I know why I sit like sugar on ice.
I learned to sit still since it stopped the pain,
But now I can’t move without tasting that chain.
So when you say I’m calm, when you say I’m okay—
Just know:
I froze myself.
So I wouldn’t have to stay.