surgery

& please oh god oh please / stitch the fault lines into neat seams / slash and cut and tear me into something else so i can breathe / because i can’t breathe / sometimes / when  your hand brushes mine / and it’s not pretty / or romantic / when i say i can’t breathe i mean i start to fucking panic / & hey / can we just talk for a while because / i think my head is gonna explode into little glass pieces on the floor if i don’t tell someone about it / & i’m overcaffeinated / & useless / reaching out with one hand through the piercing dark / & why / why does my life always have to be this hard? / i mean shut up / you don’t have a right to say anything you’ve been through is hard / and maybe the voice is right / maybe they’re right / maybe it’s time to give up / & just / let myself fall apart


Reaching out to others is really important for me. I guess that’s why I’m writing this blog in the first place–because reaching out to others is probably the only reason I’m in the place I am in life right now, honestly.

(I promise I’m safe, I just wrote this a couple months ago while I was in a really dark place.)

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Copy july 1st, 2019.jpg

and. for a second, it was like. like the sky was wide and my heart cracked open and i was a functional goddamn person. and i could think clearly because my mind wasn’t broken. and i could hold onto your hand and maybe i will still be myself if i keep breathing. i’m so sorry. i love you, but… i don’t know what i’m doing. i love you, and i have no idea what this means. and i’m not part of the world like you are, and i know that’s probably going to sound mean but i can’t do this anymore. can’t be this person, who understands being part of something. because it just doesn’t make sense. can’t you hear me? because all i want sometimes is for you to hear me. because the thing about relying on your feelings to gauge reality is that your feelings fluctuate and i just wish sometimes, that my life was a book series or something. something i could write. and make every line of dialogue rest on its line. and maybe i could shut down the computer for a while, and actually sleep at night.  but the noises are so loud, and i know i shouldn’t make life decisions based off how they sound but i don’t know what i’ll tell you when you ask me how i’m doing because it’s a lot more complicated than a smile, or a frown, and if you really want to know then please don’t ask and if you do please say it now. and we convince a barista our name is dragon tomato and that makes me happy for a little while ‘cause for a second, i feel like my own kind of normal. and like it’s ok that i am a fucking weirdo. and like it’s ok that i don’t understand the thoughts zipping through my head.  it’s ok that sometimes, i feel like i’m drifting a thousand feet above the sky and i can’t really hear anything you say as my chest slowly empties out onto the concrete broken eggshells and heartstrings but it’s never enough to drown out my insecurity. and it’s never enough to make me like the feeling of my skin wrapping itself around my body. and it’s never enough to make the hours pass just a little. more. quickly. and the mirror reflects my face back at me and maybe if i could just be different in that kind of cliché way, i wouldn’t feel like the lonely sock you can’t pair with anything. a crappy outfit. rudolph the red-nosed raindeer. like the ugly duckling. like all those fictional characters you rooted for until it wasn’t normal to be cheering.


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warning: swearing, exhaustion, loneliness

the soft light rubs my eyes to sleep. the words have carved me right through and my mind has been hollowed empty. i am the remnants of burnt down forests and tree stumps. i am rotten pieces and empty stomachs. i am nights on five hours of sleep. i am spinning and spinning and spinning and no matter how fast the world gets it’s killing me because you’re hurting me. but you don’t know you’re hurting me because you’re broken too and we are all broken too and the notifications keep rolling in like updates from a war, but it’s a war i don’t fucking want to fight anymore. and what if you win? what if no matter how many midnights i work straight through just trying to get the job done it’ll never really mean anything? and i want to be surrounded by people but i also just want to make you leave me now i want. i want. i want. i want to build myself up and then collapse myself all over again. i want to sleep right through the morning like a goddamn fucking normal weekend person. like a goddamn fucking person who can fit into the world like it goddamm fucking is. but that’s not how it is. and i want to make all of these sounds just cut out to silence. except the silence feels honestly more like emptiness. and i can’t meet your eyes because every time i see your pupils my skin starts to crawl somehow and i can picture every single one of my organs slowly emptying out of my chest because you define me and you live inside me and you control me and because i’m not good enough for you except it’s mostly in my head but it doesn’t matter. because my eyes are closing in exhaustion. and i’m gone already. and i guess it feels a little like flying or maybe drowning, but it’s hard to tell the difference to tell the difference sometimes. and i guess it feels a little like the part of me that is me is shrinking, and shrinking, and shrinking. i’m crumpled paper. i’m hands letting go of each other. the empty crevasse of a future. and the reason i’m afraid to close my eyes is that i’m kind of scared without my accomplishments as the dark creeps in, i’m nothing inside.


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