trigger warning: mention of self-harm, general description of mental illness

& on the discord chat, we spend all afternoon talking about silly things. by silly things, i mean we alternate from writing our bios if we were pets at an animal shelter to talking about vampire deer and mental health awareness, and to be honest i’m still out of breath from laughing myself silly, and it kind of hurts and it kind of echoes not entirely in a bad way. and to be honest, i’m not sure what my stomach churns with, but it feels like anxiety. and i want to melt this anxiety. i want to exist in the quiet space where everything is screaming, and i don’t have to think, don’t have to feel like i’m crazy because i don’t know if it’s true when they say everyone has something, when i tell you that i think everyone has mental illness to a degree, i want to believe that’s true, but then i also don’t because how can i assume that i know what “everyone” even is when i have never met “everyone.” when every sunset bores into my skull. when every day feels like an endless battle; a labyrinth i circle over and over again. when my anxiety is the sun, and somehow i thought that if i just stared into the sun for long enough it’d blind me, and if it blinded me, it wouldn’t hurt anymore. and if it pierced me directly into my heart, then it wouldn’t hurt. and if i just bathed myself in silence a thousand times over i’m telling you none of this would hurt. and i’m telling you, maybe i could just iron out my heart and make everything make sense, and snap all this chaos into focus. and all this time is falling so quickly, and i’m sort of watching you drown with me, and i’m sort of watching the future shine like the kind of monster that laughs right before its diamond-glimmer talons sink into me, and i’m scared that you’ll leave me honestly. because the cold is killing me, and the silence bores into me, and i just try my best to ignore everybody cradling my broken heart back to okay, and okay feels like i’ll never get there anyway, and there are so many broken things in my mind and it’s just when i’m talking to you, it’s all right, because i love you like a sister and i think maybe you actually understand me. and when i’m talking to you, you have this way of silencing the voice inside me. i mean, kind of. i mean, most of the time. i mean, that i have never really had a healthy friendship, let alone one that lasted, so this is difficult. so this is difficult. like carving a path out of nothing. or like writing a book without hating yourself, without carving pain upon yourself, and i’m trying not to punch my thighs to make a point but it’s in my muscle memory and i never really cry in front of other people but sometimes there are these really silent tears in my eyes. and i’m trying, but honestly i’m not sure i’ll ever get them out of me.

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