again again again

trigger warning: self-harm. whatever you’re going through, if you need to talk to anyone, you’re not alone, you’re not crazy, and there is help out there. find a crisis line in your area by clicking on the word here.

bleeding fingers, leaving smudges on the keyboard and i’m sorry. i know i promised you i wouldn’t hurt myself, it’s just sometimes it’s fucking hard, okay? and sometimes, i spend the whole night on stupid websites, pretending i’m fine, when i am not fine, and pretending i’m keeping up with my work when i’m not keeping up with my work. and pretending i’m keeping up with this world. when i’m not keeping up with this world. and i’m sorry, my dear, broken, body. i’m sorry there’s a demon inside me. i’m sorry i romanticize my own illness. i’m sorry i can’t breathe. i’m sorry i’m numb on the kitchen floor, because you weren’t supposed to leave. and i’m sorry, for hurting myself. and i’m sorry for not sleeping. and i’m sorry for hating you. it’s just once you get started, it’s so hard to stop it. and my fingers are bleeding over the fucking keyboard. and i’m not crazy. i’m just… a little bit messy. and just a little bit broken. and just a little bit of the remnants of glass, destroying my fingertips, scratching at your cheeks, and scratching at your ankles, and slicing at your knees. and it’s not what it looks like. i swear. and i swear, i’ll be all right someday. and i swear it’s going to get better, or whatever will make you stop looking at me like a half-finished calamity, because  i just need you to tell me you want me here. i need you to tell me you actually care. and hold my hands back, so i don’t pick at every forming scab, until my fingers bleed over the keyboard. until i cry in my closet, listening to angry music hoping that will make it better. and i text you, but you still don’t answer. and i will tell you i love you back. and i will tell you i need you here. and maybe, maybe, maybe someday we can get through this together.


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pandora

pandora(1)


trigger warning: suicidal thoughts, self-harm

because have you ever heard this story? the one about a girl who has monsters in her head since the day she is born. the one where the girl grows up like a bomb just waiting to go off building walls of fire around her skull and watching as little peices of her slowly. let. go. the one where the girl lets the monsters out, and it looks a lot like a tornado. and the girl has trouble sleeping at night because she knows that if she does she’ll be alone. the one about the girl who some days feels like nothing more than a calamity. the one where sometimes, the girl worries until she can’t breathe because at least anxiety counts as company. and so the girl drowns herself in self-hatred. smashes her heart and tries her best to bury the pieces and burying the pieces turns into lying on the floor bleeding like a catastrophe and then the girl realizes. that people don’t like you when you’re messy. and so the girl stuffs her mental illness into a box and hopes that’ll make this ok because really, i’m fine, i mean whatever i just want to die sometimes just want to tear myself apart when i look in the mirror right just imaging slicing myself up piece by piece until i’m skinny because sometimes it’s just hard to lie there alone with my body. and so the girl closes her eyes, and learns that sometimes, when they feel like they can’t handle it anymore, even seeds go into a kind of protected mode, somewhere between life and death and i am the girl, with her headphones turned all. the fucking. way. up. and i am the girl, and it’s one of those days. when i can feel myself collapsing and it just feels somehow like the end. like maybe this was just one massive game of pretend. and maybe i’m still more alone than ever now because all i ever wanted was for someone to stay. because i don’t need you to be perfect. i just need you to promise you’ll still be there with me.  but right now, you’re not even saying anything. so have you heard the story about a girl called pandora whose monsters swirl around her head, and she can feel them, slipping into her skin and taking control. again.


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