my head is like an overcast day. as in, the edges of the panic. slowly, slowly, slowly creeping in just like the fog is. as in, i can breathe, but only by a little bit. my head is an overcast day. like… self-sabotaging and not sleeping at very reasonable times today. my head is an overcast day, and i will bury myself in the blankets again. and i will try and fall into the nothingness again. and some days i think i am broken and some days i actually am and it’s never as bad as it seems in reality, but that might just be the painkiller kicking in anyway. anyway. my head is like an overcast day because i’m underslept and i feel like shit, but for some twisted reason i keep on going anyway. and my head is spinning, and spinning, and spinning. and i don’t know. what’s happening. and i don’t know why this is happening. except i do. i know that i’ve been tearing myself apart from the inside for a long time, and that most days i don’t even feel like stopping. i know that i write and i write and i write and then i bury myself under the blankets and try my hardest to keep hiding. i know everything is changing. and i know, i know, i know. and please don’t come up to me. don’t make me say hello. don’t ask me anything because whatever you want to say i don’t fucking know.
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i am on a rollercoaster that only goes up. i am on a rollercoaster and i will make mountains rise from my fingertips and i will goddamn make something out of myself. i will mould statues from my sweat blood and tears and yeah i’ll probably watch as they collapse. and i’ll watch as my organs flake apart. and my lungs puncture. because i don’t know how to breathe and i can’t do this and. i’m not sure whether i can handle this. and i’m not sure whether or not i can do this without something collapsing. this is a suspension bridge and right now all i know is that i’m the first person to ever have walked it and everything is wobbling. i am on a rollercoaster that only goes up, only i’m not sure how true that is. and i’m not sure when you’ll leave, but i know you’ll run. i know you’ll run, and when you do i will know in that moment that every word you say is true. i am on a rollercoaster and i’m not prepared to fall again. because it hurts, and i’m not prepared for this because my mind is an open wound. i am on a rollercoaster trying to tape together the broken pieces of ceramic but they’re slicing me to pieces but please. don’t look at me. don’t look at me. don’t tell me that i’m covered in scabs because last night at 1a.m. i had a breakdown. don’t tell me there are crack lines scattered across my cheeks and i look like a broken doll or something. please. because i am a rollercoaster and i can feel my blood sugar crashing, but somehow i’ve got myself convinced this is happy making mountains out of molehills because that’s all it is, really. because it’s just a meal. just a stomach sore from exercise but somehow it feels more right than anything. i am a rollercoaster and the past is the wolf at the door and i don’t know what i can do to keep it away. i am on a rollercoaster and goddamnit. please. just. get this over with. just deal with it. i am on a rollercoaster wrapping my arms around my fractured heart as i’m collapsed like a train wreck on the floor. i am on a rollercoaster and i’m staring up at the skylight trying to catch the slightest fractures of the stars, stabbing in through the tears in my eyes. because for a moment, they make me feel loved. accepted, i guess. like everything i am is all right. even though it isn’t.
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trigger warning: discussion of weight-related issues
i am an acrobat. and i’ll juggle every single hat i own and i’ll do tricks to impress you just to let you know that i’m real and i can handle this. because i was supposed to be able to handle this. because i’m sure there’s someone else out there who would be able to handle this. because i am an acrobat. and i’ll give you all of the moves i have. and i’ll stay awake until way, way too late, my head slowly spinning out of control again but that’s the point. because if i can just prove to the world that i’m worth more than being nobody maybe… i am an acrobat. i am in tune to every last mention of the word imperfect. i am an acrobat, and you’d be amazed at what i can do when i put my mind to it. i am an acrobat, and i am exhausted, but. i keep spinning. because maybe i’ll keep the weight off then. i will hollow out my stomach and then i will feel all right then… i am an acrobat. and i am perfect i will be perfect then. i am an acrobat and it’s just… right now it feels like there’s a black hole in my head. and i am wrapped up in my own emptiness. i am tired, and wired, and i am yours. and i will do whatever you ask of me. and the seconds will feel like infinities because i keep dancing until my legs are shaking and my bones are finer than the stardust in my veins because then. i’ll be worth it, right? worth your time. worth your energy. worth trying and trying and trying and trying, building castles from my broken bones and making masterpeices for nobody to see. and if it matters. please tell me. tell me i’m not just a kid. tell me i’m not just an idiot. tell me they’re not right about me. because sometimes, the blood has this way of rushing through my veins. and everything spins upside down and the clouds twist as all logical reasoning slips out of my head and i’m falling falling falling little kid off the monkey bars falling, and i. can’t. breathe. again.
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empty aching silence and i’m shivering in the winter of your heart. because time exists. because the cold echoes through the wind and the whole landscape is empty. empty. empty. like your eyes in the mornings and if i could just feel nothing for a while. if my body could stop falling apart like an out of order factory. if my mind could make sense independent of me that would be nice. i’m not saying it’s going to happen i’m just saying i wish it could be easier sometimes. wish i could just pop a pill and then my tired eyes could shift into focus and suddenly everything would make sense and by that i mean everything would be all right. lavender baths and midnight writing sessions and maybe this is. enough. to fix myself. to make everything stop falling apart because i’ve never been a healthy person, i’ve just been really good at looking like one. because i don’t know who i am if i’m not working. i don’t know who i am if my head isn’t submerged and drowning. and right now coffee is the only thing right now that can snap my mind into focus and make it start working. slowly lifting weight off my shoulders, wondering when my feet will lift up off the ground and i’ll float into outer space and then i’ll never see you again, because sometimes it feels that way. like being sad and being alive are pretty much the same thing inside me. because i don’t just feel little things. no, you don’t understand. when i cry, i make oceans. when i cry, i drown a little, only no one notices. when i cry, i can’t even figure out what the truth is. when i cry, i hate myself more than a little bit. but then… there are also the days when there are a couple clouds in the sky. slight mist and the lavender plants smell like purple sunsets, and i lean back against the grass and i look up at the sky. and i can’t quite put it into words. but in that exact moment, the world makes sense to me.
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so i try to write it out. but the screen light is burning into my eyes and i’m so fucking fed up of this mind. and i don’t want to be tired but it’s all i’ve ever known for a long time, and there’s not enough time. there’s never enough time crumpling your skull like all the things you’ve ever hated about yourself slowly coming to life. so i drink water and have caffeine because the internet says then i’ll be able to think. desperate attempts at any kind of relationship because someone would be better than no one and when your standards are nothing it’s hard to see clearly. and i’m tired of answering questions, and honestly all i want is to sit in a quiet room and not feel like the whole world is shaking. like no monster can pull me out of myself and make everything go numb and dark and a little bit hopeless. and is that a realistic expectation? or am i being too soft again? because i feel like little red riding hood, walking straight into my own mind thinking that it’ll actually be on my side, only it isn’t, because it’s never on my side, and i’m curled up in a ball on the floor of my bedroom. my problem isn’t that i don’t tell other people my pain, it’s that i tell other people my feelings too much. it’s that sometimes i look into the mirror and i’m already acting out conversations i haven’t even had yet. and i just can’t believe i spent my whole life thinking i could actually trust you. and they say it’s so simple, and they say it’s not simple. and the traffic lights keep flashing at me black and white and grey and yellow and stop and go and stop and go and i don’t know what to believe which is probably why my skull is splitting itself open. which is probably why this isn’t the first time this has happened. and i know it seems so much like a story from the outside. so much like dry-paper skin and something you can manipulate. but. for me, it’s… it’s just reality.
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