last night, i crashed my bike. on some stranger’s driveway. i cried, like a one year old.
like a little kid. with her crocodile smiles, and her eggshell bones…
cried, because i love too deeply. and because i don’t want things to change. i don’t want to say goodbye. cried myself a river, like was fucking going to die.
and watched as the bruises grew wider; creating something of an abyss.
last night, i stared at myself in the mirror. wiped away all the blemishes, and did my hair. pinched my cheeks, until they looked like wrinkled up newspaper.
I’ve read before that getting upset by small things you wouldn’t normally is usually a sign of depression. Which explains a lot of how I’ve been feeling of late.
I lose my keys, and I started crying yelled at my dad. I fall off my bike and can’t stop crying. I can’t find my shoes, and I feel useless and stupid.
Most days—especially since I’ve been going through a pretty nasty rough patch of late—have been hard. Not gonna lie. I am holding myself together, and I am doing what I need to do. But I am doing it by a thread. And the second one thing goes wrong… I lose it. I fall apart. And I pick myself back up again.
And in all honesty, it’s been feeling… like the odds are just tilted against me these days. Like fate, or whatever, is just doing everything it can to make sure I fail. Like I’m just being slammed against the rocks, again and again, and sometimes it just gets so exhausting to keep fighting.
To get out of bed. To take a shower. To get dressed. To pull myself out of the deep end every single day. It is exhausting, and boring, and stressful.
It is hard. And I will do it anyway.
Lots of love,