Slowly, the truth comes out.

This is me, piece by piece, mistake by mistake. If I never said a word, it didn’t have to have been true. The past, after all, is a different country, somewhere far away where I no longer am. So many things, but not here, not now.

Yet here they are, the ways I’ve gone wrong; not once, twice for good measure. And I finally learned to say no, and it finally hurt exactly as much as I expected, and I know, as I have always known, that this pain means so little, is worth so little.

I feel callous, cruel, unreasonable sometimes. Isn’t there space for these excuses, for this human weakness? Maybe it isn’t everyone who has to soldier on, rather than admitting that there are things she cannot do. Then again, all I see is what is necessary being deferred by what is easy. Some things are lessons, and recoiling simply pushes them farther back unlearned. The very same way my recoiling from the admission that there is something I cannot do brought me here, where I have had to admit that I did make these mistakes.

I know my reasons. I know that we have all been that lost. And I know that where I am now, it’s not in that country, and my world has reconciled itself. But the truth, as it comes out, smears the constructs I want to embrace just a little bit. It brings out this chill, this push. These were my sacrifices, offered freely or demanded, no one will ever really know. This was my self-loathing, self-destruction. And maybe that’s the place that this push, this chill, these demands on the self come from. Or maybe the destruction came from those demands. I just know that I don’t need to go so far. That I’ve come a long way from that other country. And that piece by piece, mistake by mistake, bringing the truth out helps the healing.

They don’t make me a monster. Unlovable. Unforgivable. They simply make up the pieces.

Some days I just let myself sink deeper. Other days I’m scratching at the walls of this hole, exhausting myself trying to climb back up. I always end up in the same place.

I live in this sick unrealistic world where i expect the man i love to drop it all for me because i would for him. Instead he looks at me with despair not understanding why i wince when he speaks.

Overthinking is a killer.

I’m having a hard time putting my feelings into words today.

I would love to admit that I have lost the coldness in my voice and the coldness in my mind, I haven’t.

I still find myself feeling blue. I feel blue about things that don’t exist in my life anymore.

Old loves, old friends, and ghosts of people who no longer walk this earth.

Often, I find myself running back to things that I shouldn’t. Feelings that aren’t good for me.

But why?

Familiarity maybe.

And I have a lot of text messages in my inbox, but I still feel alone because I am not comfortable with who I am some days.

These days I am not as happy as I used to be.

I think, I think too much.

Dark spaces

Dark spaces, and I am seeking answers in every nook and crevice. The tears appear like clockwork, and memories echo through my head, down my chest, in my gut. Eating has become a chore. I am cold, cold, cold.

Today, I realized my ability to reason with myself. My indifference to most things provides objective grounds for reasoning, but my emotions at times entangle themselves in my arguments. At times, the reasons why I’m right are the same as the reasons why I’m wrong. At the end of it all, I’d wish I never thought about such things.

I should take my vitamins, really

I’m tired again. I’ve bent too far again. I need the world to melt for a moment, again, please. I want to dissolve. This ball of nerves, of oughts and musts… it won’t untangle. I keep thinking in contrasts. In what matters and what does not. Warmth matters. Support matters. The way I can crumble over little things, because the big things are in their places. I want to apologize over and over and start again. Except I know that each new beginning will bring me to this same place—tired of myself, unable to do anything with myself.

I value what I value. I read my books and I want to talk about them. I clean my stove and I chase away my dust bunnies. I want to surround myself with understanding. But what I really need is for the bigger things to be understood. The things that I have in my life now. Love. Warmth. Honesty. Hope. Hope. Hope.

I wish there were a way to talk about what I love without feeling like I’m worth hating for it.

Every not thing is every every thing

I see everything, and I see nothing at all, because everything is nothing at all.
Every not thing is every every thing.

I see everything through a pirate’s misplaced or sometimes even stolen telescope, but it is not a regular pirate’s telescope when I look through it, which is all of the time.
It’s all very curious, let me tell you.
It’s almost an upside down pirates telescope, but not all the way because that would be too obvious.
It is its own sort of direction. One which always changes in the same way that is different.
I like it better there except for, inexplicably, sometimes it becomes hard to touch the world behind the glass and I do get so very flustered. Not because I am trapped, because I am not trapped. I am just there.
I am just there, in a separate way.

I am so content with only You

I will guard your heart like a pitbull
I pray for you everyday because I like attaching a big halo to you
I like that God gives us the power to do that
To bless each other
I want to bless you everyday, countless times
Tell God to touch you in all of the ways I cannot

Do you know how it feels like to be fine and dandy during the day and when you lie down in your bed at night, the uneasiness creeps through your bones till your stomach retches? All you do is wiggle yourself around, twist and turn for umpteen of times only to realize that you are breaking out in cold sweat and panting because of the sporadic convulsions that you have from crying?

Do you know what it feels like?

I do. I really do. It’s vicious, I tell you.

Eyes wide shut

I want to confront the emptiness and give myself up to it. Do you know that moment when you wake from sleep? That moment when you can’t move or breathe or talk or blink. Something hasn’t clicked right, your body doesn’t respond to your brain and you worry that you will die without air. Panicked, you wonder if someone will save you while you feel consciousness slip away.

But then acceptance comes. You don’t think about Death, about what Death means. You just feel an overwhelming calmness. You think, Yes, I will die. I don’t feel too concerned about it. Then something connects, and you breath in a mouthful of oxygen. And the calm evaporates.

Sometimes we expect more from others because we would be willing to do so much for them. Not everything is reciprocated. More often than not, people learn the hard way.

Rake those fingers down my throat, again.

Please, try to claw your way out. I am, I am. I’m trying to get out of here; out of this body; out of this place. My throat torn and harsh vocals escape through parched, cracked lips. You hate me. You destroy me. I know why. Seeing as you feel a need to do so when I can no longer please you. Feed your ego? Why, yes sir. Pardon me, but how do you presume I live in this?

I am too young to feel so old.

On moments like these, I sit in silence. 3:27am appears at the top right of my desktop. Once upon a time, 3:27 was early. I keep telling myself, I am too young to feel so old. I am torn inside by a girl who wants to partake in irresponsible behavior and a woman who knows she has responsibilities to take care of.

If only it were possible, I would close my eyes right now and make the bad things disappear and the good things reappear in my life once again.

I’m flying away and you won’t be able to follow me unless you tie rainbow-coloured kites to your ankles. (Please do, please do, the sky’s so empty without you.)

I’ve felt it for a while now, never knowing quite what it was. That pulsing, throbbing black hole in my chest. It doesn’t hurt, exactly. It’s just feels like I cannot breathe. And then, when I feel like curling into a ball and forgetting everything, HE talks to me. It could be anything, maybe just a smile. But that smile electrifies everything in my body. The black hole closes, and I can finally breathe. I don’t want to rely on him to ease this feeling, I want control of my own body. But no. Every time i see him, all thoughts are lost, and everything stops.