reasons to stay alive (2)

reasons to stay alive 2

  1. the stars glimmering in the sky. the way apartment buildings look right before the sun dies.
  2. when you’re driving home and your brain is a still, flat expanse around you, and your skin does not crawl as it sits on you, and it’s only a moment but in that moment everything is all right. and your mind only exists outside of you.
  3. i have a voice. i am in control of what it says. and i can use it to impact other people.
  4. words that i can spark from my fingertips lighting cities from oblivion. and maybe that’s the closest i’ll ever get to magic, but i’ll take it. i’ll take it.
  5. a collection of squiggly lines forming letters shaking continents and even if it’s only for a second i think i understand a little piece of what it’s like inside your mind and so maybe you can understand what it’s like inside mine.
  6. you make me laugh so hard my stomach hurts but it’s nothing compared to the weight in my chest you’ve lifted. and even if it’s only a moment, in that moment, i can breathe without my lungs feeling like a capsizing city. and that’s something, right? maybe?
  7. i am falling but i think maybe i’m getting closer to being able to trust you to hold the entire weight of me and maybe you can’t lift me out of this void but you can climb down and hold my hand and bring every ounce of your light. and i know you’ll have to go sometime soon for a while, but it’s not your battle. and it’s all right.
  8. the colours flashing black and white and the confusion crawling in through your tired eyes, and your heart is pounding, and you’re sure it’s gonna fall apart. and sometimes it does. but sometimes it doesn’t. and that’s something, right?
  9. your arms wrapped around me and your arms wrapped around me your heart pounding against me and everything for a second is all right because you know me and you’re still here. and i think you care whether or not i’m all right.
  10.  because i want you to be okay so bad it burns in my chest sometimes and even though i know i can’t i wish i could yank your brain out of your skull and make it stop hurting you. and make them stop hurting you. because you don’t deserve all of the shit that’s happened to you. and maybe someday, i’ll figure out how to apply the same logic to myself, too.

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11p.m.

did you know fun fact your perfect product comes at the cost of my mental well being? example: today, i realize at 9:30 i decide i need to finish two units of french for no apparent reason other than my skin is crawling and to leave anything half-broken makes me feel nervous. i finish a lesson. work harder, because my stomach is jumping out of my chest, and it’s hard to think clearly when your body works like this. it’s hard to sift through the lies desperately carving myself to the finish line because part of me just wants to keep moving, and part of me wants to do big things, but part of me just wants to grab your hand and never let go of it but even i know it’s more complicated than that. i’m trying to care of myself and stuff like my friends tell me to and stuff because i know they want me to be happy and stuff but it’s difficult to fill an empty mind with only other people’s love. and try to hold onto the good memories like lifelines, when the storm is telling you a hundred thousand lies. and i’m not a machine but i kind of wish i could be. but i also don’t because i think it would break me. seeing everything i could achieve, and still having to let go of all of it. so i chase after these concepts late into the night, over and over and over again. and yeah. it’s never gonna happen. but i still want it more than anything. i still sacrifice my mental well-being at the altar of my insecurity every night and every morning. it takes a long time to put the monsters to bed and now it’s too late at night. and the weight is blinding, and the only thought left in my empty head is that i don’t want to be normal or emotionless or whatever it is, not when it comes down to it. i just want to be accepted.


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it is time to read books that are not about dying

i don’t know what i’m doing. it’s 11p.m. and i’m up late writing for the seventh time this week waiting for my eyelids to slam closed like my head is really just a prison. because i’m nothing to you at this time of night and i guess that’s what appeals to me more than anything. i don’t know what i’m doing and is that all right? i don’t know how to do this. i’m long past this deadline but i don’t know what i’m supposed to write to make the world seem brighter because the words assemble soldiers on  my tongue and then evaporate the second i reach for them. it’s time to read books that are not about dying, but i don’t know how to be someone beyond my mind because no matter how hard i try to pull and stretch my memory like silly putty, i can’t remember a time when it was simple. and happy. i don’t know how to get over you because the honest truth is, i’ve never gotten over anybody. it is time to read books that are not about dying because god, it’s getting sickening. because this isn’t something i’m choosing. no. choosing is when you know what your options are. choosing is being presented with a menu in your fluent language and told to order. but… every menu in my mind keeps flashing on off on off on off neon lights overloaded hard drive what i’m trying to say is, i don’t know what it means to be ok. i don’t know what it means to completely trust somebody. i don’t know what it means to be held in your arms without the slightest tinge of fear you’ll slip away. and on the good days i am flying i am flying i am flying i am so much more than all right. but on the bad days, i barely feel like a human being anyway. it is time to read books that are not about dying, but i’m watching you walk in slow motion and i don’t understand half the words you’re saying and i guess this is how i’ve gotten pretty good at vague responses and lip reading. i’m six years old inside and maybe i always will be, but i guess there are worst things to be. fingers attacking skin slowly pulling myself like a rag doll apart from the seams again. mental breakdown on the couch because i have to take a picture of myself but i don’t want to see. i don’t want to see. i spend the whole afternoon taking pictures anyway, trying not to scream at the idea of being seen crumpled like a paper airplane on the driveway. i don’t want to see. and sometimes, the bravest thing i do all day is look anyway.


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phoenix

trigger warning: lots of anxiety, desire to escape

i’m so scared that this is the moment i realize it’s a dream & start falling. i’m so so scared that this is the moment it all sort of shatters in front of me. & i’m just sort of standing here, and my hands are shaking, and there are tears dribbling off my cheeks like the beginning of a waterfall, and i swear the heat is melting me. & i can’t think. & i can’t do this. & i can’t breath. & i’m scared i’ll hurt you all the time. & there’s a scene in the harry potter movies where harry’s eyes kinda roll back in his head, because voldemort has taken over, and that’s how i feel all the time. like someone else is holding my hands. some monster, something you’ve never met. & i’m so scared, because it’s complicated and it’s messy & the darkness is slow as it creeps in like a cancer and begins to spread. & i think i did something wrong, but i don’t know what, and the anxiety is messy all around me leaves the world in shattered pieces. & if i ever hurt you, please let me know, because i don’t want to be trapped, & i don’t want to be caged inside myself about to let go. & i’m just whispering over & over to myself expecto patronum because it makes me feel strong. & powerful. like the version of myself i am when i’m with you is strong enough to outlast all the rest, and the thing i don’t want you to know if that i’m not always kind and i’m not always perfect and deep down i am a good person but not if the hurt you have inflicted on me is buried so deep into my skin it’s hard to understand, let alone deal with. my schedule is so full it could explode in front of me, and then the dementor would come and suck out my soul, and then there’d be nothing left but a body. the realization that i can make mistakes is a black hole, sucking and never stopping inside me. and it’s hard to explain, because mental illness is smeared ink all across my history, but let me try: let me tell you how every mistake has been the place they strike. let me tell you how every mistake has become a crippling scar, an injury. let me tell you that i’ve never really been a kid. and i’ve never really been safe inside my own skin. and every flaw is where the panic and the pain and the anger seeps in, and i’ve been sealing up holes and leaky pieces for eons now and i don’t know what i’m doing, but it’s hard to breathe and can my scraps of self-compassion just be enough to get me through the night and can i just stop burning and finally get to the part where i’m not caged in my own skin & i rise? can i get past the pain and run through the finish line?


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the first therapy session

trigger warning: depersonalization, feeling lost, self-hatred

i am a student and i don’t understand and when i was eight i remember thinking that what i wanted to do with my life didn’t matter because i didn’t have to act on it and i would always be in control of my decisions and therefore able to inflict as much suffering upon myself as i wanted and nothing could stop me and when i was nine i remember clenching my fists and drawing walls up around myself so no one could touch me and it’s amazing how all it takes to fall apart is one little drop of poison and i don’t know how other people think but can you show me how to be happy. and can you just tell me what’s a good thought and what’s a bad one. because i just… don’t… understand… can you just tell what i’m supposed to think now but please make sure it’s the kind of thing i’d think and please don’t take me away from me and please don’t make me another person and please don’t take away my choices and the words keep ricocheting like stray bullets through my skull i will believe anything you say so i will plug my ears sometimes because my opinions are porcelain hell not even porcelain because i’m blinded by my desire for approval and can you just reach inside my heart and let me get over it i’m a mess curled up inside my arms and what i’m trying to say is that every minute seems spinning and disconnected puzzle peices ripped apart and disjointed flashes of colour but it doesn’t really make sense and it’s hard to breathe and it’s all kind of a mess bleeding splatterpaint colours on the walls clawing down the cage of my skin like if i push hard enough i’ll crack it open and were they right when they told me this would make it better because the wicked lanterns burning through my skin did promise me that


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