Because breathing is all I can do, I exhale and inhale through my tears, forcing myself not to think because combining problems won’t fix any of them and let’s not make this cry about everything wrong in my life. She is gone. It is unbelievable, but she is. And you did get lost today because you didn’t get enough sleep and you felt like a failure and you wanted attention from somewhere and couldn’t get it. Because the internet is not a person and notifications aren’t hugs.

It is okay that you forgot your class, because messing up five percent of your grade will not prove detrimental to your future or your well-being. You feel like you can’t keep track of everything at work, but it’s not your fault the office is understaffed and you are human. Please don’t beat yourself up.

She is gone, my love. And she loved you while she was here with all she had. Do the same, to yourself.

Please.

Love your body. It is the only one you have.

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Floating on Emptiness

I pound against the doors of time
And beg them to release me.
Why did they lock me in here
When did they lock me in here
When will I be let go

Into the darkness
From whence I came –
Free from memories
And want
And love
And hurt
And desperation.

I float on my emptiness
And wait to be swallowed up
By this great vacancy
Which I’ve been allowed to occupy.

I wrestle with my ambitions
And my knowledge
And I fight and give up
Side by side.

“What’s the use?”
I ask myself.
“There will be nothing
When this is over
The same way there was nothing before.”

I release my breath
And sink into myself.
“Endure,” I say
“It will all be over soon.”

Awake

It’s death again, and my life, and what I’m to do with it. My long distance relationship and when and how I’ll find out what love is. How long I’ll live. How long my father will live. How things were before I was here. How they will change after. Why I was even born in the first place. Why I am being made to deal with this. Why there isn’t forever. Whether or not there really is anything afterwards. 

It’s 3:47 am and I’m awake thinking about these things, the same way I do any other time I’m awake. 

Fulfillment, success, happiness. Will I be one of the lucky ones who get to have these things? Or will I be one of the sad ones who never figure anything out, spending their whole lives searching for answers only to not find anything at all?

How many more years until I come to any sort of conclusion? 

Before I Move

 

I wonder how long
It will be
Till I get tired
Of sitting in hopes
And maybe’s
And if’s,
Looking at everyone else
Live
And wondering
How to do it myself

How long
Before I abandon
My efforts
Towards creating a plan
And simply
Move

With the feeling
That pushes me
The vibration
That pulls me

How long before I stop
Telling myself
That I can’t
Because I’m not strong
Or extraordinary

How long before I realise
That I don’t need to be
Either of the two

How long before I stop standing
Before I stop lying down
Before I stop sitting
In anxious impatience

How long before I move

15 Hours Before Now

Sometimes I remember again.

The thought enters my mind
and I hold on to it
instead of allowing it to pass.

For a second,
maybe three,
time speeds across my eyes.

My heart sinks.
It feels as if someone has tugged hard
on a string attached to it,
the way a truck driver would
sound his horn.

My body follows suit, quickly descending
as if it is being pulled into a well of water,
but just before my nostrils
go beneath the surface

I stop.

I mentally shake my head.
I throw the thought away.
I have to,
otherwise this paralysing fear
will spread through my being.

I release the breath
I had sucked in
three seconds before.

I sit upright.
I take another breath
and release it.

This is unproductive.
It will do me no good.
I will eventually die.
I don’t know when.
I cannot change this.
I will never be able to.

Continue to breathe.
Leave death alone.
It will come in due time.

Do not ask questions.
There is no one to tell you
why you were put here.

For now go home and sleep.
You have a long day tomorrow.

Anything But Strong

Maybe there isn’t anything to say,
But there’s way too much to feel
And it’s too bad there isn’t a dictionary
Embedded inside me
So I could put a name to it all

This conundrum, these convoluted thoughts
That are chasing each other
The way a dog chases after its tail
And the same way it never catches it,
They never reach a conclusion
A solution
Or build a firm resolve to action

It’s a roller coaster –
But a slow one –
Pushing its way through frozen time
And busying yourself
With moving images on screens
And sounds from speakers
Doesn’t make it stop moving
Doesn’t give you an answer

And then you revert
To that old question, thought, whatever:
Who brought you into this
So you could suffer this way?

And you hold your tears in
Because you’re in a public space
And you can’t let the world see you
Being anything but strong.

Messages Misunderstood

cranes

More messages. He calls me baby and I shake my head. He doesn’t know what the problem is. I say there isn’t one.

Things had tided over, sort of. I was trying not to think about it and move on, cuz it’s dumb really. I have a life I need to figure out. I don’t want to spend my time arguing over word choice that wasn’t bad or intentionally hurtful. I have mood swings. We both know this. No need to blow shit up.

“Sounds like you don’t want me to call you that.”

“Whatever you want. I’m window shopping cuz I have some time. I’m hungry though, but there isn’t anything I want to eat [the sad face emoji with the eyes squeezed shut]. ”

“Fine. So you actually have a problem with me and keep saying everything is OK?”

I don’t understand this association. I suppose it makes some sense, but that’s not what I meant.

“There’s no need for the ‘with me’. I just don’t like being called baby most of the time. The problem isn’t ‘with you’ it’s with what you said.”

He says he doesn’t get it.

More misunderstandings. More messages. I don’t get to tell him that going to grad school for sociology instead of social work is weighing on my mind. I’d prefer to talk about that instead.

According to him, he doesn’t mean anything to me and things are always fine until he opens up.

We misunderstand each other a few more times. I’ve grown used to this. I don’t get annoyed much anymore when he says something I can’t comprehend. I still get annoyed however, when he doesn’t understand me. Most times I just can’t be bothered. I can’t be bothered with a lot of things.

He says for this relationship to work he should lie to me, because that’s when I’m happy. I say “well that’s sad.”