i’m curling up into baby-soft folds of skin. i’m watered down and ragged and giving in, so i hold myself close, with every fragile beat my heart has to give. every scrape of broken glass down my throat, every shaky breath of poison air into quivering lungs. yeah, every tap-tap-tap on the window, as i tend to the scars on my ankles and the hungry days when i prayed to be consumed. and i’m sorry, when i hurt you. when i hated you. when i googled ways to die. when i cried on the staircase at two in the morning, ‘cause i was too dizzy to see the light. i’m holding myself through the night, ‘cause holy shit, i could have died. i could have crumpled up like an autumn leaf, and shattered like dust beneath someone else’s feet. but trying is a million times more scary, you know? like fluttering leaves and half-snapped wishbones, sitting by the sink. sometimes, i almost miss those days. and i’m sorry, baby, for all the nights i have stayed up late. for the screaming, and the shouting. and all those years, i flickered in and out. i’m sorry that i’m still learning how to love myself. i’m sorry for every cut, and bruise, and sticky-hot tear on tissue paper skin. i’m lying still, breathing out. and in.
I wrote this a few nights after this super-scary incident I had, where, long story short, I may or may not have accidentally swallowed a small piece of glass.(I decided to have leftover soup as a late-night snack, the lid on the casserole dish had somehow shattered, and glass had got into my soup, which I clued into pretty fast, but in theory I could have swallowed some.) It was terrifying in this existential way. I felt so delicate that night, and so… glad I was okay. Which, when I’ve spent so long self-destructing, is kind of new. Overall, it was a really weird experience.