I swear to god I’m trying, I’m trying so hard
but it’s so hard to get up right now. I got up this morning
and went downstairs and ate some salad my dad made last night for breakfast.
I’d have poured myself cereal, but I don’t think I was able to make something. I don’t think
I would have been able to mix something together and call it okay.
I went back to bed
and it took me four times longer than usual to get up and shower.
God, I hate myself. I’m a wreck.
God, I hate myself. I’m a stack of regrets with temporary enthusiasm
drizzled across my face like syrup on pancakes.
I went to bed. I went to bed. I went to bed at 1pm
and I feel fucking useless. I am apparently in
a place where I feel like I am disappointing people for being like this
but I don’t know how else to be. I am in a place
where going to bed justifies the rest of the day solidly turned in on myself.
I do not know how to leave.
I do not want to talk about this.
What’d be the point in turning to you and crying, ‘I’m sinking, I’m sinking.’
when you would just point out how gracefully I’m doing it?
I do not need to be told I am fine
because I know that I am not fine. I know
that I want to go to bed and I don’t want to wake up.
I am watching myself race myself in the shallow end of a pool.
I know that I’m sinking,
and I know I will struggle back to the surface,
but I don’t know what happens in between. I don’t know
how or why I will start kicking again.
People need to realize that there are days when you’re not in the mood to talk or interact with anyone.
I didn’t get lost in you, I fucking drowned.
Just tell me how you fucking feel.
All parents damage their children. It cannot be helped. Youth, like pristine glass, absorbs the prints of its handlers. Some parents smudge, others crack, a few shatter childhoods completely into jagged little pieces, beyond repair.