i never said this would be easy.
never said you wouldn’t feel like giving up sometimes. because it’s hard, and confusing, and lonely.
never said you’d grow up like the other kids. never said that some days, you wouldn’t cry your eyes out on the bathroom floor just because you exist. never said it wouldn’t take all the strength you have just to get through this. but… look at you.
you’re doing it.
you’re growing. stronger, and stronger, and you are steady now. and i don’t think there’s anything in the world that could knock you down forever.
because i think… you’re getting better.
static electricity, and flashing neon lights. and i don’t care how i got here. just keep driving.
and let me cry, like the world is over. cry, because i’m so ridiculously scared of getting better. but for all the times i never said it… i’m proud of you. for how far you’ve come. for all that you’ve lived through.
and there are always gonna be days when you feel like this. when memories haunt you from long-past moments. and you’re surrounded by friends, and yet you still can’t help but feel the aching sting of loneliness.
but it will pass. just like always. and you’ll keep breathing. and you’ll fight. and you’ll win.
because you’re so much more than a sacrifice to this abyss.
A while back a counsellor on a crisis line wanted me to write something for myself that I could read in the moments when I was falling apart, when I didn’t feel worthy of love or anything else–when I wanted to destroy every inch of space I dared to take up. I’ve made a lot of different attempts at that, and, well, I wrote this one on a school computer on a really rough day a couple days ago, and for some reason I am so ridiculously proud of this one.
paperthin doubts. crumbling bones. and don’t you dare try to give me anything resembling a compliment, because if you do i think i might explode.
tired eyes and weak bones. and i’m sorry for crying on your staircase at two in the morning i just feel so alone. so trapped inside myself. and you’re allowed to take up space in a room, you know.
skeletal fingers and shadows in the night, slamming your eyes closed. because i’ve seen monsters, all right? i’ve been there, and i’ve done that, and nothing you throw at me could possibly compare to the villains that live in my head.
panic attack in the locker bay, mid-block all alone. and fake a smile, okay? say you’re fine when they say hello.
questioning reality. because you’ve never been in anyone’s mind but your own. and this could all just be a stimulation, or a game, or some kind of sick dream. you know?
a heart. cold as stone.
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and maybe i will take lavender baths / because that sounds like something people would do in poetry / and i will go to bed at midnight and wake up at 10a.m. and i will not need coffee to wake up / and i will be calm / and i will not use food as a way of burying my emotions / and i will keep trying / i will keep writing / sorting through my feelings like puzzle pieces and i will try to go slowly / i will try to shatter myself under the weight of expectation / i will try / and i’ll probably fail half the time / but i’ll try to be the kind of person my therapist would be proud to hear about / the kind of person who knows what they’re doing inside their own mind / and / i will stay up late / writing alternate universes where we are superheroes / listening to the sound of the cicadas / and the keystrokes / and the hope / the small, lonely piece of hope / a car ride and we’re all alone / and i will try and not be swallowed this time / and i will try to figure out who i am without everyone else inside of me / and i will try / and today is international self-care day and i feel like it’s kind of pathetic how terrible i have been at this so far all right / and i will try to love myself as the me i am / or at least figure out what that even looks like right now / and i will try / and i will try and sleep well / enough / well / enough / and breathe / and believe / that i will get through this / eventually / and try not to feel like i’m standing at the edge of some highway with my hand out in the air waiting for someone to pick me up / and the heat is splitting / and my mind is slowly dissolving / and i will try to talk back to my anxiety / and maybe this time / it’ll feel / something like reality
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today the sun rose, and the sun fell. i didn’t ask you sure how one pocket of time can feel so tiny and yet so massive, and maybe it’s all about perspective. today, it’s hard to write this without it feeling like i’m pushing my way up through sticky honey and the fog of closed curtains broken flash drives and half-asleep panic attacks, but i’m trying. today, i decided i would try and drown my feelings. only then i decided to fold them; try to find symmetry out of the chaos and make sense out of everything and it didn’t really work, but i did write poetry. and today, i wasn’t the person i want to be. because i’m never the person i want to be. today, i think my fingers shook on the keyboard with the quiet electric shock of my anxiety. today, i think maybe you’re not who i think you are and that scares me. and it’s all lies and empty faces. and these words do i mean it is this really my voice do i really mean it what am i saying what role am i trying to fill again what is this? what is this? and will you still love me in the morning? and was i good enough to be worth your time? maybe i’m not good enough. i spread my arms out like the page of a book and i turn myself into your story. and why am i not enough to be your everything? and today i try to wrap my arms around myself until the words stifle my mouth. i curl up into a corner and my heart is one massive explosion of charcoal and screaming and my eyes which are always kind of closing. the stars are shaking above me. and i want to be ok but i’m not but i’m trying. i’m trying. i’m trying. i hope that means something.
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