bird in october

trigger warning: suicidal thoughts

i want to be a bird in october. i want to dip, and dive, and laugh my way through the sky. i want to be free of all this. i want to be made of light. and i want to hold your hand, and laugh, and cry, and does that mean the only way to be happy is to die? which is stupid, because the only way to be happy is not to die. and for the last time: dear me, suicide is the opposite of a solution to your problems, all right? i want to be a bird in october. i want to be crisp air, and red leaves, and the sky melting on your shoulders. or a skating rink, when they put christmas lights up in winter, and we go around and around and around in circles until nothing matters anymore. i want to be free. of all of this. of the heavy weight of sleep-deprivation and self-hatred constantly chasing each other around in my chest. i want to remember what it felt like, that time we stayed up so late looking at the stars, bathing in the cold air and the distant city lights. i want to fly and not feel the weight of my history like a deadweight, constantly right here behind me. i want to laugh and not be doing it out of anxiety. i just… i want to be happy


if you need to talk to anyone about what you’re going through, no matter how large or small it is, find a crisis line in your area here. self-harm or suicide are never the answers even if it might seem that way. please hang in there.


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another silent monday night mostly just spent running from my mind

because as we previously established, live radio is the only known cure for the endless ache of my loneliness. and because if you clean your room for the first time in years, and try your hardest not to think about the future, and learn how to make a latte, and read the better half of harry potter and the goblet of fire, maybe that will somehow make this easier. and if you count to ten, maybe you’ll stop feeling what you feel. maybe nothing will be real. and is that really too much to ask? because sometimes, the weight of the memory slams into me, and i am collapsing under the weight of all… these… feelings. because i just keep tracing back my history, trying to find the one moment when all of this started. and i’ll try to plot it on a map and chart it. but… i never can figure it out. when the first fissure hit my skull. when everything kind of… fell apart. a little bit. or maybe i’m just being silly about this. just telling myself pretty stories to fill the void in my chest. and maybe the fairytales i made up in my head were only ever supposed to act as substitutes for real friends. and maybe i will always feel alone, even now i do have real friends. and so i will clean out my room, and schedule instagram posts, or some other relatively pointless task. as the wind whistles through my head. as the fault lines clatter through my head. as the night wears on. and i am one massive, eroding riverbed. and no matter how much i try to run from it… i don’t know if i’ll ever escape that.


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and apparently puppies on instagram are the only things with bright eyes anymore

and you don’t know about any of this, do you? don’t know how fucked up everything is, right now. don’t know how sometimes, i just sort of want to curl up into a ball and cry for all the shit i’ve lost, now. now. now. and by that, i guess i just mean my innocence. i mean the fleeting, shattered moments when i trusted you more than i trusted anyone else. i mean i’m rereading the books of my childhood, and suddenly i understand. and you don’t feel any of this, do you? don’t get it. what the world has fucking come to. don’t understand that sometimes in life you love people so much, and they will care the world in return and still never know how to love you. and if you hear screaming just let me know, because tonight the monsters in my head are hunting me down to the death again, and sometimes i say things i don’t mean to. and can’t you see it? the way that on the bad nights, sometimes exhaustion slams the door, but never locks me in. and is it better? to be ignorant? to just not have to think about any of this? because… you just look so happy. like all you really want in your life is to spend it loving someone unconditionally.


so im sleep deprived and getting sick as i write this, but like i think this is okay? when i’m sick all logic honestly just goes out the window, but i think it’s okay.


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a letter to myself for when it feels like there’s nothing else left in the world

trigger warning: suicide mention, self-harm

influenced by shane koyczan. (a little.)

i know. you cried puddles on the kitchen floor, and threw chairs at the door, and your stomach shook from the impact afterwards. didn’t it? didn’t you? and you snapped, and you fell apart, as the sun descended over the horizon, and it felt like it was the end of the world because in that moment you hated yourself more than you hated everything else. didn’t you? and some days, you still don’t know what’s in your head and what’s actually true. but… you also picked yourself up off the ground and winced as you bandaged your bleeding limbs too, because as a kid with mental illness… it’s the kind of thing you learn how to do. and you’ll tell yourself you can’t, and then you will. and you’ll tell yourself it’s too much, and sometimes it is. but somehow, you’ll live to tell the tale that you made it through. and i guess i just wanted to say that for all the times i haven’t said it: i believe in you. i believe that you will make mistakes. i believe that you will hate yourself. and i believe that there will be days when the knife or the pill seem like all you have left. but i also know that you will be given the option to jump, and you won’t. and i know this because i know you. i know you as the girl who made a flower crown and watched the sun set, and for a moment, forgot about that anything else existed. the girl who grew herself gardens through the garbage. who cried into the sun, until the tears made the whole ocean. i know you as the person i am growing to love, and accept, even though i have grown up hating myself. even though honestly, half the time, i still do. even though my head is some kind of shattered window, and my lungs malfunction… i know you. and i just want to let you know. that even if it’s fifty years right now… someday, we’ll get a little bit closer to looking in the mirror and finally being able to tell the reflection i’m doing all right, thank you. and i don’t know how long that’s going to take get there. maybe a whole lifetime. but we will get there. i promise you.


this started out as a really sad vent poem i came up with while i was walking titled, for obvious reasons, “didn’t you?” and to be honest, i don’t know how it turned into something else. but it did, somehow. but this happened. i might turn it into a spoken word sometime soon, if i feel up to it? i found some really good royalty-free music for it, and i’m starting to get into spoken word again.


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lonely nights, which are slightly better with sweaters and radio (spoken word!)

i wasn’t really feeling up to it, so i took a break for the month of august and just let myself stick to written poetry. but, well, a couple nights ago, i was feeling up to it, so i finally did something i’ve been wanting to do for a long time–i set a poem to music! it’s from danosongs.com and it’s one of my better recordings, if i do say so myself. 🙂

check out the text to this poem here. (add link when post is published.)

trigger warning for discussion of self-harm.