stop scrolling through your phone first thing in the morning. delete all the apps on your phone. (it won’t last, and you know this. do it anyway.)
try to breathe, in and out until it fades to muscle memory. stitch your pieces into order. slowly.
when you stab yourself with the needle, force yourself not to bleed on the fabric. get up, and go to the medicine cabinet. wash the blood off your hands.
take your brain in for repairs, like a shitty computer, constantly needing to be taken in for repairs. you tighten the screws, you reset the hard drive, you bang the dust out of the keyboard, and know you’ll come back here next week.
have a drink of water, ‘cause you can’t drown out this weight in your belly, but you sure can try. (dizzy on the tennis court, sick in the sunrise.)
sometimes, depression feels like drowning slowly. sometimes, there are good days, and you gasp for air and you think you’re all right, until the next wave hits me from behind. but all this time, you’ve been floating in the sea. and there’s no land in sight.
so try not to feel sorry for yourself. even when your life feels like a sob story in a youtube comments section. even when you’re drifting, and you’re screaming out, and no one comes to help you.
go to sleep. tell yourself you’ll wake up early. save it for another night. ‘cause when you can barely breathe, you’ve got other things on your mind. and yeah, it sucks. but in the big scheme of things, it’ll turn out all right.
call your friend. zone out. stare into blue light. take a bath and iron that twisty feeling out of your stomach. lie on the floor, exhausted and breathing.
fashion a raft out of kelp and driftwood. it’s shitty, and haphazard, and it’ll only last a week. but it’s something.