sickbed

nurse me back to health like i can’t do it myself. until everything is normal again.

rock me back and forth in your arms. call me lovebug and baby. tell me i’m beautiful just the way i am, or whatever instagram told you to say.

tell me i’m brave. and strong. and that i’ll get through this, and everything is going to be all right, because maybe you don’t know that, but i just want to pretend. even if only for a moment.

even though no amount of love you carve out from your heart, and press into my arms is gonna fix me. but it’s worth a shot, isn’t it?

i mean. you do some pretty dumb shit when you’re desperate. 


For as long as I can remember, it’s always been me looking out for me. My mom–the primary person who raised me, since my dad was gone at work throughout all of my early childhood for most of the day, sort of instilled the into me, both intentionally and not so much so. My mom has always been one of those people. And I think seeing her to do that, for better and for worse, combined with my relationships with my peers, teachers, and honestly every adult figure in my life… even as a toddler. There was. I had to look out for myself. And I think in some ways, that’s lead to my life’s greatest successes. But, well… sometimes, I don’t want to watch my back. I don’t want to take care of other people.

I just want someone to hold me in their arms, and tell me I’ve got you, and to just not have to have my guard up. Because honestly, it is so fucking exhausting.

Um, on another, slightly more lighthearted note, the first episode of my podcast just came out today! You can listen to that here.

 

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