trigger warning: self-harm mention
i sit in the armchair for hours on end. alone in my room. my stitches slow, and elegant. you’re going to look so beautiful at the ball tonight. aren’t you?
but me? i’ll scratch bleeding marks down my arm. and i’ll call it a fashion statement. even though it isn’t. lean back on the chaise lounge, and let a strange old man talk to me for hours on end.
and he tells me to wake up before sunrise, the sleepdust sprinkled on your eyelids aching and bold. it’s time to get some work done, you know. and i will good sir, i promise, smiling as i go…
i’ll stop highlighting all the parts of my body i don’t like in the mirror. and never again, will i stare longingly at a pair of cheap scissors. because the dress will fit perfectly, and the shoes won’t hurt a bit…
as i spin around, and around, and around, my hair glossy and gorgeous. and they’re all watching now; yet another lovely face, birthed from the whispering crowd.
but that’s just in my head, of course. none of those things are really going to happen, now.
I’m so focused on fantasizing and glorifying what my life will be like someday that most of the time, I forget about the actual reality. My whole life plan is a thousand blurry black dots spinning around in my peripheral vision, so close and yet so far away. I know that I love writing and making things, and that it’s what I was meant to be doing, as much as anyone is meant to do anything. But that still leaves a lot of options open.
Most of the time, I just sit in my room, paralyzed by exhaustion or indecision or plain-old and anxiety and depression, telling myself that someday it’s all magically going to get better, and never actually putting in the effort to make that happen.
It has been a little better of late, though. I just got a job gardening, and having some kind of order and routine in my life–something I have to do, rain or shine, no matter how sad I’m feeling, has been weirdly helpful. It gets me out of the house, and it’s definitely very nice to be able to save up money and be able to think “yippee, another month of rent when I’m eighteen!” or “oh wow, looks like another week of food I’ve saved up for there, that’s so nifty!” (I know, I’m so exciting.) I’m trying to get out there, as much as one can safely do while in a global pandemic obviously. I’m trying to face my fears. I’m trying to figure out what the hell I want, and stop caring so much about what society thinks about it. I’m trying, and that’s gotta be something.
Lots of love,