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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