imagine i am panicking

lightning(1)(2)

imagine i am panicking. imagine i am standing in an empty classroom. imagine i am lying still paralyzed reeling on the ground. imagine the ocean is rushing over me. imagine every wave is a tsunami. and on the inside, i am drowning. yes. i can talk through it. but the words are a sticky spiderweb in my throat ok it’s hard to explain exactly. but i swear it is there and it will continue to be. tears, like magma spilling over the edges of my cheeks, leaving only the burnt husks of a personality. now imagine that i’m drowning. imagine that i can’t even see the bottom but i know i can feel myself sinking. i’m trying to breathe, but at this point it seems easier to just ride out the feeling. imagine i am scrubbing my skin clean, and clean, and clean because all the imperfections suddenly highlight themselves and the whole world disgusts me. every day there’s a rock concert in my mind and anxiety is a smoke alarm and i’ve cried wolf on myself way too many times. and i am just sort of standing there, and the music of my thoughts seems to jerk my heartbeat out of my chest. like life is a test, and i do not want to study for it because if i do not study for it, it won’t exist. imagine, that there is blackness, rising up from the ground to meet me. and suddenly everything is too much for me. imagine i am standing before a crowd of people only i can’t breathe, and i can’t think. why i am like this why am i so fucked up why am i a ticking time bomb waiting to go off why am i a collision of wrecked pieces my mind pouncing on every open wound every stressful situation ingraining itself into my skin and why is it so difficult to breathe. imagine i am a star, glowing on the edge of the horizon, and everything is kind of messy and kind of complicated. imagine everything feels like too much and i wish to flick off my mind like a lightswitch and i listen to dreamy music and it makes me feel a little more alive and i have held my own hand a thousand fucking times and considered pulling myself back off the edge but i didn’t do any of that because i am under siege by a monster and i do nothing to stop it. i am under siege by a monster and i want to tell you all the ways you’re beautiful but how can i tell you you’re beautiful when i can’t say it to myself and mean it? and how can i tell you to let go when i can’t even let go because i see cliffs in the flatlines of my heartbeat as i drift slowly, slowly, slowly to sleep and i’m not gonna check because i’m tired of it always being sometime after midnight. i’m tired of how i cannot find okays even in the starlight. i’m constantly falling, and sometimes i imagine that the sky is, too, because it makes me feel less lonely. and i know i should apologize for all the things i’ve called myself. but… right now, i don’t want to.


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i am drowning

trigger warning: anxiety, self-hatred, swearing, exhaustion

i’m sorry. i can’t do this. there is an endless ocean of water around me and my mess of a body. the silence crawls into me. and the headache is a lightning bolt streaking through me. i can’t find anything to write about, and that makes me think i’m empty. and that makes me think it’s over. and that makes me think i’ve screamed out my eardrums. and that makes the future seem black and empty, because everything has two sides, and one of them is good and one of them is bad, and everything kind of hurts, because like i said the headache is a storm, and i am breaking to pieces. and i’m begging for someone to remind me why the hell they’d bother with me, and i’m scared that if i don’t cling to you like you’re all i have left i’ll never see you again, and i know that this is irrational, but it’s there is inside me. and right now, i’m just listening to calming music about sad things so i can hope that choosing to take care of myself is as simple as fighting, and there is fight inside me. i’m just scared it’s finite. and. i think my anxiety is louder than me. i am rocking myself back and forth, like i am my own crying baby. i am writing poem after poem, and after i’m done this, i don’t know what i’ll write about next, but i know i’ll write something, and i guess that’s a good feeling, and i guess there are worse things i could be doing, but there is something about the normalcy of being all right that makes me feel paralyzed. something about my life like a puzzle i can’t slot into place. i feel everything in high definition. i feel my mistakes like they are the best moments of my life i feel my successes in fast forward and slow motion. i feel the whole world like every crack in the sidewalk is the sign of an earthquake, and my brain is a smoke alarm that can’t stop going off, and i’m not sure, what these colours are, but they shift before me, dancing and singing songs i will never hear but can so clearly see. i can’t think, and i slam all doors closed, only then it feels like my heart has been shot clean out of my chest, and i need you to stay with me. and i can’t believe that it is worth my while to get better, and a strange kind of desperation seizes me, and i just need someone else’s hand, to dull the empty static electricity of my grenade oh wait this place is what i’m supposed to call a body. and i haven’t had time to write today of because i’ve been pretending i have time to write today of late because. my heart is so, so empty. and i think now i understand, what it means to be a negative number, what it means to feel like you are sinking below the instagram aesthetically pleasing newfeeds, and and splitting headaches, numbers and figures that will soon disappear echoing around my empty, desperate head. and i don’t even tell this shit to my therapist. because there are two kinds of fucked up: below and on the surface. and i don’t even tell my mother about this. because my feelings, they are concrete, and they have laid here long enough to know that some people just don’t understand. and it feels like drowning, my eyes closed even as they are opening. and it feels like drowning, swimming through the silence, forged stubbornly. and it’s the loneliest feeling. when you look in the mirror. and you realize. that your soul is a scab, and you’re growing up, and it’s hardening, and it’s healing, only apparently i look different than i remember me. and i just want to come up and stand up and say something, but every single thought in my brain echoes back at me. and i guess this is how i push myself down. and i guess this is why i drown and god. these aimless days are starting to get so, so old to me.


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new backpack & new clothes

trigger warning: anxiety, feelings of sadness/depression, insecurity, social anxiety, fairly detailed mention of suicidal thoughts

and it smells a little like metal and a little like rubber and kinda like gasoline / or is that just me / wondering / could i wipe my soul clean / if i just wore pastel colours / and would i be happy if i could just / be normal / if i just / posed in the mirror and said positive affirmations like prayers to somebody / maybe it’s you / maybe it’s me / i don’t know / could i just not be heavy for a while / could i be a mermaid swimming through an ocean of okay / and an ocean that is calm and still / and it’s definitely tropical / it’s definitely beautiful / and calm / and easy / and life never hurts me / i never amplify the hurt / i never hurt me / could i be okay if i just wore pretty clothes and ballet flats / i know it’s silly but i sorta believe it when the advertising promised i’d be ok / could i look like the models in the mirror staring back at me telling me my thighs are definitely fat and ugly / what if i wore makeup / when i don’t want to wear makeup / what if i just took pictures / and used filters / and maybe then / i could just be numb / i want to be numb / to all of it / i want to be frozen like a half-melted snowflake in my statuesque palm / i want to stand still in the morning stuck in the numbness of the sunrise and the alone and the cold on my arms sending frost tickling through my body and in this moment / i am lying still on the sand and my heart is warm as it burns itself to pieces / and my heart is warm as it pretends it’s all right when it isn’t because my all right is probably your crazy / i know my own boundaries fine / the issue is that every time i notice them i compulsively trespass each line / and my heart is warm and blinded as it wrestles with itself desperately trying to skim through the pages in the textbook of my life / trying to navigate to the part where i tell me how to be happy / except me doesn’t listen / and me doesn’t like me / and me is not okay with me / and what if i was the kind friend in the books / what if i made you smile / what if i made you laugh / maybe then / my life / would sort of go black and white / when i say i narrate my life in third person / i mean i get confused sometimes / the desire to be frozen / be still / be so still i emboss my heartbeats onto the pages / be so still they know you are there breaking down and then they turn around and then finally you can breathe because they’re watching you and it’s all right / be so still you seem normal in your insanity / and the desire to die / so when i say that it’s not suicidal thoughts exactly / i mean that every morning the anxiety whispers gently in my ear that you would love me better / if i could just be dead / or gone / or silent / it feels like dead to me / but call it whatever word you can think of / for the tired galaxy in the mirror / looking back at me


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the / graffiti

trigger warning: suicidal thoughts, detachment, disgust, mention of needles

i’m not sure what to call this.

when you think about it  your stomach is gonna feel like a tin can. like where-the-hell-did-my-heart-go-again. like metal. like slam against the wall after you’ve been running down a hill for a decade thinking there was no end in sight metal. i can’t believe you when you say i love you. metal. you’re not gonna be able to write so your fingers will feel like paper machê streamers dangling from your hands. like wind chimes, tinkling in the breeze, beautiful but useless dead skeletons we bury in our chests because they remind us too much of the things that used to be.  your brain is going to freeze. your brain is gonna empty out like a teapot that didn’t realize what it means to have nothing left until this moment this moment it’s been chasing after its whole lifetime. your brain is gonna feel like a cardboard box flattened on the side of the curb with the drawings still on it. the drawings we did. you’re gonna be feeling your heart thump in your chest a little louder than before. just a little. somehow reminds you of all the times you let every shadow under your eyes every bone in your body stick out on end. you let in all the thoughts in like wolves that had been at the door telling you have to dinner for a long time. you let them inject lies into you needle after needle until you feel like you’ve been bathing in bleach in order to get all the colour out of you and you hate your mind for being this way for ripping down walls like they can just be rebuilt in a minute they can be rebuilt but it’s not that easy. all the eerie details are gonna file into your head like suspects for a crime except i don’t remember what the crime was so i’m standing here realizing. i’m a failure. by eerie details i mean things like how do you know you’re real? how do i know other people see the same colours i do? why should i care i don’t have to? most of the world will feel like it’s melting in your hands. and everything flickers, on. off. on. off. black. white. black. white. the letters are really just strange squiggles. and the pictures of the stars on your bedroom walls are just paintings of little white pixels it’s meaningless. you’re going to realize that all the highways we trample over every single day are just a disguise for pain and you either become the side that says stop and the side that says grow up or the side that runs away. you’re going to realize that time is a current, sweeping you away scouring all the paint off your skin that you wore just because you wanted to feel different and now whatever’s left—whatever this is—it’s quiet, for a moment. and it’s alive but it’s alive in a way that makes all the bones in your body ache. it’s alive in the way a haunted house is, rustling with the ghosts that tell you everything you don’t want to hear about yourself and then say the truth hurts so therefore this is the truth. so therefore it’s not anything. so therefore you should walk on the pieces of broken glass that don’t have to hurt and keep going. your heart is going to scream no and you’ll say yes anyhow because you are a machine today and in this second all you know is how to go and your heart feels like a cauldron where they make poison starting to bubble over this is nothing this is where the numbness seeps in. the kind of numbness where the layers of your personality attack each other until i don’t completely recognize who i am in the mirror. you’re going to want to cast all of this away. you’re going to want to scratch at the scars scattered across you like they can just be ripped away like they’re just dollar store stickers you plastered yourself with because you’re lovable this way. living feels disgusting when it touches you. resting feels disgusting when it touches you. your skin feels disgusting when it touches you. love feels disgusting when it touched you.  everything feels disgusting when it touches you. i want to run away. and why does life even get the right to touch you anymore when it’s hurt you a thousand times in a row a thousand little blows a monster laughing as it sets me on fire only to blow me out like a birthday candle and kiss me goodnight flicking off the light why does life get to get away with murder? why does my life matter? why do my feelings matter?  why can’t i just not care anymore? you’re going to stare at the ceiling your face slack like a rope about to let them fall. this is when i tell you to carry on. even though i feel like a feather slipping out of my own palm. you’re going to spend an hour staring at the dirt in your front yard kicking up the dust until you can’t breathe anymore. you’re going to wobble on shaky legs around the living room this hard fog rising up in your throat and nothing they’ve said can reach you. i am driving myself off this deep end i think it’s because i don’t know what else to do. the thing about nightmares most people forget is that sometimes, they do come true, and when they do, that’s when i hate you. my body feels like a candy wrapper i can just toss away. you won’t have a bathing suit on when you jump. when you fall into the cold your cotton clothes dragging behind you. and you’re not gonna be sure, but you think maybe if you dive down far enough down into the coral and the black hole, you’ll find your heart. your stomach. your lungs. your soul.


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