i miss my peeling fingernails,
the cracking and unfurling of my joints as i cautiously step-step-step on atrophying muscles, wasting away day after day
i miss finding a sense of control in hurting myself relentlessly, miss the countless notes to anyone i've ever loved in hopes of never opening my eyes again
crying and bruises and tears and tears
'i only have three more years'
i miss being unrealistic and extreme and blinded by pure want to self-destruct
i miss not feeling so lost, hopeless, empty worthless nostalgia burning in my lungs, finding old memoirs of myself screaming that i felt just as bad then as i do now.
i don't like being nostalgic for better days that never existed. it just brings a constant sense of hurt in the end - there is no closure for something that never existed. dissociation runs my daily life and splits me into multiples and shadows and unreal beings. i'd like to think i've never existed at all.
