**to see this story, please see my new acct @halkian**

2.29.19

 I lock myself in my room, creating a eucalyptus scented limbo that can't decide whether it is hell or paradise. I tear off my jacket covering the beauty I so militarily like to hide and allow myself to be in the space. I offer my plants a meager amount of water, apologizing for the scarcity knowing I am too exhausted to get water for even myself. If writing is hell, I must be a Leviathan I think, unsure of precisely what I mean. In fact, I don't even know what a Leviathan is.

I count the things I can see around me: red shorts (on the ground,) pile of paintings (in a plastic bin,) mess of papers (on desk,) dirty towel (also on the floor,) and my discarded jacket. I sigh, knowing that I must learn to accept where I am. Even if where I am is in a room I'm too tired to keep clean surrounded by blankets that haven't been washed for months.

I think that's what is romantic about it, though. I think that's how depression becomes a new form of romance, as the messy world around you becomes almost beautiful through your tired eyes.

>> My thoughts are interrupted by the realization that my grandparents are coming to pick up me and my sisters to feed us because my other grandfather is in a hospice & my parents can't be home to give us food. <<

My thoughts are allowed to resume when I get into the car. I know I should be talking to my cousins, but I can't find any words that fit into open air. My words only fit into a 5 inch phone screen.

It's pretty outside I think, but I know that I only think that because I see it as a reflection of me, my mood. As much as the city seems to want to enter spring, the weather disagrees. Flowering trees contrast grey skies and heavy clouds that carry a chilling wind with them. Again. I am interrupted. I saw a boy's face light up with a smile and I think it is the cutest thing I've seen in a while. I notice how the sore in my mouth burns when salt touches it.

>> continue to see some stuff that isn't very prettily written. sorry to spoil the aesthetic so early, but maybe this is for me more than it is for anyone else to read <<

It's been a long time and a mad cool game of Mario Party 8. It's dark outside now and I don't like it. I can't ever really be happy when it's dark, I can't even be tired. It's like I'm so scared of myself that I can't be myself when the quiet of night comes. My writing doesn't even feel the same.

Tomorrow I'm going to an art competition where I have to be interviewed on my piece. I've been feeling really confident about it, but suddenly I'm worried. I don't really know what to say. It's the type of contest where you make an entry for the contest rather than entering something that really represents you. My piece is beautiful, but I don't know what to say about it. I have a lot to talk about, but it just doesn't feel authentic right now. In fact, I don't feel authentic. Maybe it's just one of those nights. A night where I need to play cavetown songs I can sing along to so that I can remember that I have a voice and that it's mine.

I was having a really rough time and thinking about a past relationship that really hurt me, but then I started imagining my best friend's family members popping out of a washing machine like jack in the boxes shouting obscenities and the laughter cured me. Maybe you can hear more about that later, when I can't find laughter to chase it away.

I feel calm now, and that's where I want to leave off. With happiness.

much love, blessed be

-a hairy, unsure boy

out of context message of the night: "u can be mr. clean's pet prairie dog"