CW: suicidal ideation, implied sexual content
This chapter is a semi vent, but I am not at risk of self h*rm or su*c*de. I am several years clean and actively seeking/receiving professional help.
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it feels like something is fundamentally wrong with me
I grapple with the fact that I'M not okay, that not a single thing about me is just fine, but I love them so much, and I'm headed to college. I'm headed to college! that's, if I work up the nerve to head to the adult school alone to take my tests because of a few elective credits.
a jerking shock, a longing ache from the pit of my stomach, I think I'm going to be sick. Have you heard of limerence? I fear I'm forever stuck in THAT loop when it comes to love. in an episode, out of an episode, 1001 relationships and all the broken glass in the world and my feelings for you just have not changed.
I want to end myself. I need to end myself. as vicious of a desire as hunger or thirst or the need to connect- in whichever way you may like. hand in hand or hand in-
I wish I were a game! draw me in a cute style, Lord knows I'm never going to be handsome or pretty or beautiful slightly attractive at all. not now, not ever. so draw me and make me lovely and read my character description before playing me- a boy, 18 years old, takes a walk through the forest with the goal of committing. whisked unexpectedly on a wild adventure, he comes out of the forest at the end of the story with a fate for you to decide. is it worth staying, or will he still take his own life?
I want to be held so tightly, wrapped deep into the earth and kissed all over by maggots. I want to be held so tightly, wrapped deep into your arms and our blankets mixed together, lay on top of me and hold me to your chest as tight as possible, a hand to the back of my neck and the other wrapped around my ribcage. you can't kiss me all over, but my lips and cheeks are marked with love's determination. today, those lips are dressed in pink.
I love pink. it's my favourite colour in the world.
I feel as if the life I've yet to experience tugs harshly on my right arm, and the sweet release of death persists on pulling my left. today, my left shoulder hurts because death is trying, but life still reigns her win without hurting me. I live yet another day. I love with hesitation yet another day. am I traumatized, or genuinely broken?
I come. my tears come with me, my manic laughter does too. it's not the first time, I guess. Do you wanna make some ravioli with me?
