Shades of the heart

~75~

I- It's another bad night.
Has it become predictable to you, wake up to a text notification of me whining about my bad life that really isn't that bad?
I'm sorry to be the type that complains.
The type that likes to share or likes to hurt openly.
It makes me feel better knowing that in the moment I'm not hiding my feelings from you, because if I hide what I feel my throat gets clogged up and my eyes mist over with not-yet-shed tears,
And really what's worse, the pain or the choking sensation of hiding it?
-November 2019

II- I hate you sometimes.
Not for anything you do or say, not for you, I don't hate you for the way you act or the time you take to reply,
I hate you because I'm attached to you.
Be it by a noose or a heartstring, both wrap around my neck when I'm alone. Both jolt a searing pain through my body, they wake me up, they make me feel, they hurt.
With attachment comes danger, with attachment comes risk.
Sometimes I wonder if letting people pull my heartstrings is a good thing when all they ever seem to do is make the same noose and say they're making something different from the others.
Maybe it's me making the noose for myself.
Maybe I'm guiding their hands because watching myself be destroyed is so sweet. Reminding myself that I can and will be shattered might be the only way I convince myself to keep living.
I fill myself with broken promises of "the next one will be better," but everyone reaches the same conclusion.
-December 2019

III- Sometimes I'll lay in the dark and remember the beat of your heart next to my ear.
Sometimes it's the only reason I'll carry on.
Sometimes I'll sit and think over my life and convince myself I have it terrible but maybe, just maybe, at least one person would be sad if I were gone.
I cling to that. I cling to you.
You're dependable, you're perfect, and I need a little perfection in my life.
-August 2019

IV- I still remember the feeling of his hands around my throat. I know I swore never to speak of it but sometimes it feels as though my neck is still bruised and my throat is closed.
Try to tell me I deserved it. Give me a reason, even if it's not true. Tell me I riled him up, tell me I pushed his buttons. Tell me I deserved him ruining my life like he did.
Tell me something other than "you're a victim" or "you didn't deserve it"
I want to convince myself that I was at fault.
I want to hate myself. I want to tell myself that I ruined my own life, that he did the right thing.
I want to be lied to.
Give me answers, not empty words that fill a space no-one but me is ready to address.
-January 2020

V- Sometimes I sit alone and I cry for no reason.
Sometimes I don't cry when I should.
Sometimes I sit in silence, completely broken, and stare into nothing.
In my head I want to cry but honestly,
What's the point anymore?
No one responds to my tears. All they result in is puffy eyes and red cheeks.
What's the point in crying if it feels like no one cares?
I wish you would care.
-January 2020

VI- I want someone to shoot me right now.
I want someone to push me on to train tracks.
I want someone to force feed me poison.
I want someone to cut my wrists open.
I want someone to stab me.
I want to die but fuck, I couldn't kill myself.
Even in death, I don't want to be a disappointment.
-October 2019

VII- God, fake smiling is so HARD.
Faking happiness is one of the only things I do well, but after? I'm exhausted.
People wonder why I don't talk after school. That's seven hours of pretending I'm perfectly okay.
Seven hours of scratching at my thighs in the school bathroom wishing I could evaporate,
Wishing for my bones to show and my skin to be tight and my stretch marks to leave me alone.
Wishing to fade away into nothing because my body doesn't fit my needs.
Lately I've pretended to be okay so much you'd think I was an actress.
I've spread self love and positivity but I can't back up what I say,
It doesn't work like that.
You either love yourself and don't care what others think,
Or you convince others that they're beautiful as they are and "no, don't worry about the cake, you're not going to gain loads of weight from it!"
And wait for them to say it back.
They don't.
-January 2020

VIII- At night I feel the pressure, the weight dragging my lungs.
It's not imaginary. It's real, and it's here, and I can't breathe.
I feel like all I do now is convince others at three in the morning that they should keep living, but who will convince me?
There will be the days that we fight, we argue, I get hit, I get screamed at, I deal with school drama, and at the end of the day that's all I am.
A punching bag, a person to vent to.
Am I your friend or are you just toxic?
-December 2019

IX- I have spent four years telling myself that I deserve to take up space,
But still tucking myself in a corner.
At school I take up as much as possible. I play the role of "loud, brash, in your face" because no one is getting above me, not anyone that isn't entitled.
If you give anyone power, they take over. They ruin you. And I suppose that's what I'm doing here,
But I'm protecting myself.
I will never let myself cower in a corner.
That's how all sorts of abuse happens. I've been the victim in too many stories, lets not add another to the list.
-January 2020

X- Fucking hell, talk to me.
Tell me that you're alive, That I was wrong, That you hate me, That I'm an asshole.
I don't care what you tell me, I'd probably thank you if you spat on me.
I'd thank you if you threw coffee down my favourite shirt.
I'd thank you if you gave me a black eye.
Why?
I'd thank you for being here,
For being more than you were,
For being alive but you know that won't happen.
Yes, suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem.
But it's a solution I've been considering over these past few weeks since your birthday.
- October 21st, 2019.

-9 messages I've typed out and never sent. I give up pretending. I give up sugar coating. If I type something out, I'm sending it unless you've told me not to.

-Mel🖤