i am sick

faux smiles. cinnamon. and pretending the stars. and i hold my breath, and plug my nose, and my heart pounds as i start to shut down, because you know perfectly well that i can’t handle this right now. because i am sick. and because the painful memories turn to lightning strikes and power outages. and because where you see a window, i see a ledge. and a ledge means jumping, and jumping means falling, and falling means the end… and i am sick. because in this moment, my mind has never felt more broken. and i will read an entire 600-page book in one day, and my head will blur like the ocean, and i just want to forget for a moment. forget that i am sick. forget that i don’t get it. forget that i am a puzzle with half of the pieces thrown in the garbage, and maybe my whole life will just be spent trying to track those pieces down so finally, i will make sense. and maybe that’s all we ever do in the first place. because i am sick. and i am tired. and i don’t want to think about it.


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trying to explain my mental illness to a dysfunctional society

you see, there’s a voice in my head that won’t stop screaming at me. and it has this way, of making me feel like i’ll never stop falling into the fault lines of my brain, except i don’t want you to know that, because if there’s one thing more terrifying than the idea of being rejected, it’s being rejected when i’ve shown you every single part of me, and every single part of me is still not enough for you to love me. and i guess i usually feel like you’re at the verge of leaving me, and when you start seeing things that way,  in your head, it can escalate pretty quickly. and i guess i can be a little bit dramatic sometimes because of my condition, and even though i didn’t choose this, i’m sorry.  i fall apart out of nowhere sometimes so please be patient with me. and please understand i’m not doing this because i want to hurt you. i’m doing this because there is a voice in my head that won’t stop screaming at me, and sometimes i just can’t take it, and somehow bringing pain upon myself makes it… stop. for a second. and if i hide in the bathroom for hours on end and break all the mirrors in my skull because the idea of being seen by anyone, including myself, makes me want to claw my face off, please don’t laugh at me. even if you wouldn’t laugh at me. even if i was eight, and it’s just a memory that keeps echoing through my brain, and maybe a memory is why i can’t breathe every time i have to walk through a hallway. but all i honestly want right now is for you to hold my hand. and listen to me.


wow, this started out being about self-esteem and ended up being… something else completely. i wasn’t expecting that, but i like this version much better than the original, anyway.


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on writing a novel when you have no idea what you’re doing right now

on writing a novel when you have no idea what you're doing right now(1)

so i stack up words like i’m building a castle, trying to turn the wifi off. right. now. because i’m writing a novel, goddamnit. i’m writing a novel and it should be beautiful. i’m writing a novel and it should be perfect. i’m hanging out with friends and it should be perfect. i’m writing poetry and it should be perfect. and so i pour my heart into some lava and make it all a mess and maybe then it’ll leave me forever now. and it’ll be perfect. and it’ll all be over and i will breathe easily please. just. love me. and i’m standing here. in the middle of the pages and i’m screaming out calling for someone to help me. and so i stack words like a castle and nestle them around me and then maybe maybe maybe, i’ll finally feel like i have some company. and i’ll shape them, slowly. post-it-note castles. food dye. mess on the counter. paper mache. and so i try. and so i don’t try. because i’m tired, and i’m busy and i can’t handle the weight of these words in my mind. these words, that refuse to let go of my insides. and i’m walking around, with a blindfold on. and i hope that when i fall, i’ll be able to pick myself up. and i hope that when i fall, i’ll be able to climb back up. and hope that there’s something that will come out of this. hope my head is the kind of garbage dump that despite all the shit it’s been put through is still somehow capable of producing the most beautiful gardens. and so i paint pictures in my head, and try to bend them into something that makes sense.


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on the days when it really feels like the world is ending

on the days when it really feels like the world is ending(1)


trigger warning: self-harm, suicidal thoughts

because today i had to take two ice-cold showers i felt so dizzy. and i’m still not entirely sure if it was because of the heat or because of my anxiety. and because yesterday i was up until 1a.m. imagining what it would feel like to cut myself open and laugh as the pain rips through me. and so tonight i lie awake, staring at the ceiling, and it’s fine when the lights are on but the second they go off everything slowly starts collapsing. because i just want to sleep. i just want to be ok. and i don’t know how long this will last. i don’t know if this is weeks or a day. i don’t know, and it just feels… so… heavy. and i don’t know how to handle the way the days stack together like dominoes because we train wrecks probably qualify as birds of a feather or something. and late at night, i like to go insane inside, collapsing a little more every night. and i have to be perfect, right? and i have to be brilliant, right? and i have to snap all the broken glass shards together and do it somehow without bleeding. somehow, without screaming. because today, i felt so nauseous i was about to pass out and maybe that isn’t really a stretch of the imagination anyway. and maybe i just don’t know what i’m doing. and maybe i don’t know where all my broken pieces are supposed to fit in this tired body; full of imperfections and i’m just so fucking tired of not knowing what’s even happening. and i’m sorry for all the times i’ve lied, okay? i’m sorry for all the times i fucked up and made mistakes and didn’t tell anyone that i wasn’t all right. i’m sorry for all of this mess, scattered around us. i’m sorry if i can’t fix it. i’m sorry if the world i live in is a fucking mess. i’m sorry if i’m walking into the lion’s den, kind of like an idiot. i’m sorry, okay? i’m sorry i’m not perfect.


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landslide

landslide(1).png

and your voice in my ear. and the stories slashing through me. and your voice in my ear. and you’re telling me like he told me like she told me and for a second the world vacuums itself black and white all around me. and i just need someone to stay, and remind me i’m real, and tell me it’s all right. and i’m about to cry. but i can’t cry, and the memories wash over me, and it’s too much. it’s too much. it’s too much. the sound of your voice or the lack thereof it’s too much. and it’s hard to think through the panic because the panic is all i am and they’re watching, even when you’re not. and your voice. telling me that i’m garbage because that must be what it means because you’re another goddamn broken human being wandering around another goddamn broken planet. and i thought it was over. and i thought that i was safe here. and i thought you’d be there for me. and i thought you’d protect me. and i thought it was all right to fight back but it’s not. but all i want to do is fight back and when is it right to fight back? and is it somehow my fault for being different? and should i just stop existing maybe would that fix it? and could i just disappear into nothing and why am i the one they choose when they sharpen their knives and get ready to dig them under the weakest skin they can find. and will i ever just be somewhere where every damn person is there and every damn person cares and i know it’s never going to be perfect but i just don’t understand how anyone can live like this because it feels like someone has left me with only a skeleton and you have taken my heartbeat you have taken my skin and you leave me with nothing and then you wonder. why i’m afraid of abandonment. when every part of me feels like it’s been ripped open and i pour myself out onto the pages and it feels like i’m surrounded by a wall of fire. and all i need is for you to wrap your arms around me and remind me why people are worth it again. and i need you to listen. listen, to the landslide in my veins sending panic through my skull and the glass shatters and the walls crumble and the wind howls over my empty body, and finally. i think i understand. what it means to be shaken.


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