August
The struggle of heartbreak, depression and anxiety ruptured every second me. Every part of me screamed to somehow echo this sting inside my veins, the salt that dried my heart out.
Being young I was an amateur to how life works...the pain never lasts, It just doesn't. I don't like speaking within his manner however to clarify his absence I have to do the unwanted.
"Would you be able to see him with someone else" ...
The toxic waste of breath I was programmed to say as an ex nearly left my lips, until I thought about it generously. I realised no emotion paired with no. I couldn't own him anymore because he didn't even entertain my ideas. I looked up from her glance as she scanned my facial expressions.
yes, he can do whatever he pleases
It felt good letting go a little, I could feel my face blossom a little. I felt pretty. You can't switch between emotions but there was that one minute of silence before I suddenly realised that his pulse did not compel me, jealousy no longer contained me.
No, I'm not over him - his voice still haunts my head. But of all the scenarios I pictured him and I together again, they remain at a close. As I realised, we weren't made for forever, we simply weren't made for the future either. We were made for then.
I needed him at that point.
I overstayed my welcome.
For those months I had of him I hope to never regret upon.
He did nothing wrong and neither had I.
It was a phase, a perfectly anonymous short story. Which I cherish as my first, but most severely and most distinctively
not my last.
I'm happier.
I was toxically attached to the thought of needing someone to be happy, when really, I forgot who I was, mesmerised and pathologically distracted by the thought of what he could have been rather than what he was.
Blinded by the character I wanted him to be.
The mind is the biggest fear. Biggest rejection, biggest enemy.
In which if anything he taught me, he taught me not to love, if you weren't over loving yourself.
Love is five minutes of pleasure for a lifetime of pain, maybe that's what makes it so painfully timeless.
04.07.21
Her body jolted desperately. Bringing every last drop of food to the surface. I felt her ribs obtain on her back and her spine curve downwards as I stroked the thin skin set on her bones. She turned displaying that face of sorrow and desperate need of attention, I looked at her face. Lines formed in every part and one eye had flared under its surface like she'd been hit several times. The alcohol had poisoned her organs which had now gradually obtained to her outside appearance. Her eyes burrowed down and she began to retrieve from the horror scene I'd just witnessed. Breaking down, I cried unwillingly. How desperately her bones showed and the creases around her eyes formed corruptly. I cried so very hard at the woman I couldn't recognise anymore. She, more than any heart break. It's so hard to watch someone destroy themself - especially someone called mom.
And after it all, I lie here as she lies beside me asleep, with the sick bucket I lay by her. And all the anger and frustration breaks, my eyes fill with liquid and the pain in my head sinks to my heart. I miss you mom, so fucking much.
Your silly dances, your laugh, your face, your beauty, your grace. They say the best people die; the best spirits die the fastest as if this world isn't made for souls so pure.
Time passes so fast, I'm watching it pass.
I sat in English today. Disregarding essays upon essays of one right answer, labelled teaching.
But why should we teach? Why should we as humans teach knowledge, we have no recognition of firstly. We don't and will never understand the reasoning behind our existence.
So why be taught historic events when we are contrastingly supposed to leave the past behind us?
I have many ideas, subjected thoughts on my future, where my life is destined. I'm fighting fear and failure. Fighting this crazy place by myself. Surrounded by bodies I dislike... but then isn't that because I'm with the wrong people? Is there such thing as a wrong human?
It feels as if this fleshy mental illness I've had to deal with for these past years doesn't go away but scars - a permanent wound sealed temporarily by a rough shed of skin I'm dying to pluck off.
I don't want sympathy. Just a little desperate for affection, or a voice other than this outspoken one in my head.
She's laughing at me and now so am I...
It's not like we make it out alive, you fool.
