july 19th, 2019

july 19th, 2019(1)

and the stars glimmer on the horizon. we spend most of the day watching a series of unfortunate events on netlfix and discussing cults and taking turns reading each other fanfiction. on the roof. and i close my eyes. and let the air rush over me. and it’s probably not safe, which is the point, because it’s silent, and you can hear the birds, screaming, and it’s 1a.m. and i tell you to sleep but i’ll stay awake long enough for you to read the first chapter you’ve been writing all night to me, because being sleepless is different when you’re tangled up in a blanket on someone’s bedroom floor because there is no damage that cannot be undone by sleeping in until ten a.m. beside someone. and the sun rises. and i think the therapy is helping, because for the first time in a long time, i’m not afraid of being alone, and i’m not exhausted, and my head feels new again. because we’re laughing on our stomach and we’re drinking tea, and we’re cuddling cats. and i’m reading you fanfiction at 1a.m, and i don’t even think it’s helping but i do it anyway. because the words taste nice on my tongue. because for a while, i don’t feel like a bad friend. or a bad person. and my mind can’t hurt me because if you start tossing and turning in your sleep i’ll be there to battle the nightmares away. and i think i trust you to do the same for me. because i think at this point, you know a good half of me, and that’s more than most people ever see. because i think i have trust issues, but in the acoustic guitar and the dreaming crackles of your speakers, it all sort of disappears. because we’re friends. and that means we can build a little bubble of time where we can be kids for a while. and that means that for one perfect second, talking about our emotions at 1a.m., i feel like a miracle.


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overcast

overcast(1)(1)

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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and now all the flowers are dying

and now all the flowers you gave me are dying(1)

because / on the day of the performance / you gave me cut flowers / and you smiled / and you encouraged me like you always did because / i guess that’s what you do / and you said / that i did good / and it didn’t feel like i did good right then / but i think you were right / because for the first time in a long time / i wasn’t terrified and it’s the last day of school / and the flowers are dying / and i miss you is all i mean / i miss / feeling / like i would never be lost again / because now i’m just sitting here writing poetry / half-asleep / and aching / and probably totally catastrophizing / because anxiety can do that to me sometimes / make me feel like my insides are being split open sometimes / make my head wash itself to nothing only to clear everything out on these shelves and here we go all over again / here we go / and / i / slowly / fall / and on the day of the performance / i run into the bathroom / and i stare into the mirror / and i splash water on my face / and i stare into the mirror and / it’s all your fault it’s all your fault it’s all your fault / and / i can’t think and i can’t think / and it all rushes through like a flock of butterflies on their way to die / way / way / way / too quickly and / what if nothing is what i thought it would be / and / what if it’s over after this / and what if i’ll never be happy / and what if


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rainy days but on the inside

rainy days but on the inside(1)

indie acoustic mental illness. and the darkness surrounding me. and i’m so sick i’m convinced i’m not sick half the time which i guess is the problem with this. and there’s a black hole in my head and it caffeine refuses to fix it. and so do the blankets, wrapped around my shoulders like i can make a cave out of my heart if i try hard enough. like i can hide away from everything that hurts and just pretend it’s ok. just pretend it’s ok. just pretend nothing is going to hurt anymore. just pretend. because they say just pretend. because instagram poetry says just pretend. because the stress smashing through my skull says just pretend. because the advice columns and vacation culture says just laugh it off and it’ll be ok, right? maybe? and sometimes i wonder if i really even have anxiety. even though i know i have anxiety. because some days i’m all right. because maybe i’m recovering, but i also feel like i’m just lying. and i also don’t know who i am without my mental illness and i know it’s probably not like it seems like it is. but the lady at the corner says you can’t sell sad poetry and i wonder if she’s right. i wonder if she’s right that it’s better. to just laugh it off and pretend it’s all right even though i know perfectly well she’s wrong. but i don’t know how to give you my heart without being afraid because honestly, i am one massive ticking time bomb, and if i can hurt myself this much maybe i am just one massive grenade waiting to go off. because the masks flicker. and change. and change, and change, and there are new expectations all over again. and if you romanticize never sleeping and spending days that feel longer than days feeling empty it’ll all be ok. it’ll be fine. i mean, whatever, right?


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i want to self-harm and i do not

i-want-to-self-harm-and-i-do-not1
trigger warning: self-harm

i want to self-harm. i want to self-harm really fucking badly right now, if i’m being totally honest about this. and i tell my therapist that i think it helps to numb the pain out if i just focus on hating myself so much that finally, there’s something in my chest that doesn’t feel like chaos. // i am two weeks clean of self-harming and i’m scared of who i’ll be without a long list of mental disorders towering behind me. and i’m scared that this means from now on in, my story will be boring. because my head is a runaway train and maybe i’m just a fake, because some twisted part of me likes how i look in this light; falling asleep imagining slicing up my body into a thousand different microscope slides because i never thought ten pounds could bring so much hate to life. // i want to self-harm and i do not. because i’m stubborn. because i’m tired. because i don’t want to be this person. because i want to mean it when i say it’s getting better. // i want to self-harm and i clasp my hands together. and breathe in. and close my eyes. and tilt my head up. and up. and up into the night. and i’m not going to say it’s pretty. not gonna say it’s like some kind of story where it’s that easy but somewhere between shaking hands and deep breaths and fingers slamming into the keys for a moment… i’m free.


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