she is beautiful
she is strong
she is the apocalypse.
she is the breath caught in your throat
and the stumble between your heartbeats
she is a swirl of bubblegum skies
and chapped stick kisses
she tastes like honey
and summer daydreams
she reminds you of an ocean
breathless, breathtaking
relentless
she is gentle
she is lost
and she loves you
It’s hard to tell the truth. But here’s my version. Within each statement is a simple truth, just how I feel. If you think that this is how I’m projecting my relapse – you couldn’t be more wrong. I would have never posted this a year ago, or hell, even a month ago. I don’t think I could’ve even gotten myself to write this. I know these aren’t great sunshiny feelings but they’re my feelings and I’m working on them. This isn’t a call for help. I’m proud of myself, and I’m proud of how far I’ve come. I can’t believe I’m including a picture of myself in this. I hate having my picture taken but I think it’s important for me to realize that I am a part of others’ memories and that they actually love me. Thank you for being a part of my journey, I wouldn’t be here without everyone’s love and support.
Here are my truths.
I am nineteen.
I have accomplished nothing.
I like writing.
But I am not good at it.
I have had my heart broken twice.
I’m scared to fall in love again.
I don’t like it when strangers look at me.
I think they’re mentally stripping me.
I’ve been taking sleeping pills every night for the past month.
Because when it gets too late at night, I want to hurt myself.
I miss my father a lot.
But I still remember the belt he used to strike me with.
I love reading.
I need to escape. I need to forget.
I paint my nails often.
Because if I look put together, no one can tell that I’m falling apart.
I like getting sick.
Because having the flu is a better excuse for me to stay in bed than depression.
I have recurring nightmares of drowning.
I’m scared of the disappointment I feel when I wake up.
I’m always sunshine and rainbows.
Because if I’m not, no one will like me.
I don’t like it when people tell me to shut up.
It’s taken me a while to find my voice.
I intend to keep it.
chapped lips
dark circles
boring days
anxious nights
dangerous habits
and thoughts
slipping back in my mind
how much longer
do i have to do this?
black and blue
still stains my skin
still stains my soul
from nights i don’t want to remember
nights i cannot seem to forget
why do i do this to myself?
my fault
always my fault
i wanted it to be good
i wanted to be good
i keep sinking
into this hole i keep digging
the hole inside my heart
somehow keeps expanding
you call it art
but it tears me apart
inside, always keeping it
inside
— i am falling apart
Skinny Love – Birdy
I’ve been feeling out of sorts lately, like something is wrong but not quite enough for me to say I’m depressed, because I’m not, trust me. I’m not depressed. But something is a little off. And I don’t know how to explain it. I feel like an empty shell, moving about day to day without really paying attention to what’s going on. I feel almost guilty for feeling dissatisfied with my life.
There’s this sense of familiarity with everything I do – wake up, go to class, go to the gym (sometimes), Netflix, homework (sometimes), and sleep. Oh, and all the meals (and things with friends) in between that. This pretty much is my every day routine. It’s not a terrible one, right? I mean, I think it’s pretty well-rounded.
But one day, as I was standing in the shower watching the warm droplets glide down my arms and stomach, I was struck with this sensation. Like something was wrong. I still don’t know how to describe it. It was almost a reminder – a slap in the face, perhaps, mocking me for how hard I’m always trying. No matter how many extracurricular activities I surround myself with, I’m always filled with this almost-guilt – what if it isn’t enough?
I feel like it’s middle school again, it’s the first day of school, and I’m surrounded by a sea of strangers. I feel like it’s the first time I’m about to fly thousands of miles alone to a foreign country. I feel like it’s the first time I’m leaving home, but I’m not. I feel like it is the first time having sex and I’m scared and nervous. I feel sick to my stomach all the time. I’m watching the world go by in slow motion yet time is passing so quickly – there aren’t enough hours in a day. I feel stuck. Guilty? Lonely. Unmotivated. Confused. Uncomfortable. Unsettled. Lost. Lost. Lost. Lost. Lost. Lost. Lost. Lost. Lost. Lost.
My only two rules in life are to be kind and to do things out of love. But no matter how hard I try, I can’t get rid of this feeling of almost-guilt, this vulnerability – I will never be able to erase how lost I feel. And I’m scared. That even now, at 18, everything seems to be so in place, yet I feel like the world will swallow me whole at any given moment.
I am looking for solid ground. I can’t find it. Will I be feeling this way when I’m 28? 40? Lost. I am so lost.
My fault.
It’s always my fault. This phrase has been ingrained in my mind ever since the third grade. I had borrowed my friend’s favorite green crayon and lost it. We both lost something that day. I lost a friend, and she lost a crayon. I cried and pleaded with her to stop being angry with me. I even ran to the store to get her a new one (for $1.75). She eventually forgave me after that, but things were never the same since then.
*
Everybody leaves. It’s inevitable, really. I know that by now. And with every passing person that discards me, it gets a little easier. It hurts a little less.
I have lost so many best friends over the past eighteen years of my life. I have lost so many friends I used to call family. But I suppose, if I’ve lost them, then maybe they weren’t family after all.
Maybe it was me, maybe it was them – maybe it was a number of factors that I could have never understood or the timing “just wasn’t right.” I know that a lot of times people make decisions, it is based on them – it isn’t really about me at all. But what if it is about me? What if I said too many things – too many stupid things that I couldn’t take back?
Sometimes I wonder if people can be addicted to being alone. It’s easy, you know? To live life so unafraid of what other people think because no matter what they say, they don’t truly know you. But here’s the truth. I am afraid. I am so afraid that I am the reason that people leave. That all my failed relationships and friendships have been snuffed out because of me.
What if it is my fault? What if this whole time I’ve been trying to blame external factors when it just simply is my fault? Then what? Tell me, dear readers, because I am stuck. Tell me what I can do, what I can say to make everything better because this time, I don’t think it’s going to be just a crayon that I am losing.
liquid guilt 