I'm fearful for the day I lose all sense of self
and it's not like my worth is equated in belongings
but I'm losing mine now and that's something to grieve
realistically
I know
they are still there
just tucked away for a later date
but for now I lose the enrichment in my enclosure
and can't help but feel a void opening in this cavity I call a chest

I wrote my thoughts on yellow paper:
blue lines,
red margin,
I found relief in the feel of the smoothness against the side of my hand--
and I was content with life for awhile

but I realized that that life was false,
some abomination of the real world--
a place of kindness where there was evil,
a utopia where there was none

and my thoughts I think have become juvenile with age--
which is to say I feel childish in my emotions:
unable to feel the things that are important
instead of those problems which are just surface level

my anxiety is a demon clawing at my shoulder,
it holds and it holds and it holds--
it is stuck into me with sharp teeth and talons,
and it reminds me everytime I move my arm that it is there--
always watching,
always whispering
gurgled words I have long since known how to fear

and it's difficult to say why I feel this way,
maybe I was cursed ,
maybe I was just born unlucky,
or maybe it's been my fault all along
letting pathetic reasoning take place

I wish I could go back to that paper--
that yellow glare of comfort,
the easiness of feeling something controlled for once
but instead I speak about petty nothingness every two weeks--
too enamored with the idea of the now,
that I am unready and unwilling to open up the past

it always ends like this :
blank pages glaring,
forced steady breathing,
with the knowledge that avoidance is the same thing as accepting

Sometimes you meet someone and later realize how much you should have remained strangers
But your paths have crossed and now you can never be the same
Tell me you feel the same
I'm begging

Sometimes I don't feel like I'm anyone's anything except maybe their problem
and I would give anything to gain the amount of love I give for others
My first steps were on eggshells, and I've been tiptoeing ever since
afraid of breaking the perfectly laid out path that was crafted of my own volition
I attempt to stomp on occasion,
but am met with glares in response to the sound

I want to be needed
but more than that I want to be wanted
and it's difficult for me to accept that
someone could want me in return

I've found people before who seem secure
yet every time the safety breaks and the steady smooth ride turns turbulent into a crash

I feel secure with you for now
our communication is clear and valued
but I can't help wondering how long this security could last
I doubt myself more often than not
I'm still waiting for the fall

When she tells me that it's bad
I want to laugh in her face
she calls me pessimistic, stubborn
I call it realism.
I can change all I want
I can choke down all the pills
I can write in journals until my fingers cramp and the edges of my palm and pinky are stained with black with ink
it doesn't change the fact that when I leave I will go home to an empty apartment
one that I pay for but can't truly call "mine"
one that encases me in the safety of its walls and tempts me with the subductiveness of my bed
it doesn't change the fact that I am nothing, will go down in history as nothing,
and will be remembered as another case file on her desk and a prescription for medications given out like candy

--I'll still be me when I leave I'm struggling with that

The withdrawal is nicotine induced but im the cigarette being stomped to the ground

I watch as they have petty arguments
make up in a day
and cuddle in the other room

and I want that trivial bickering
the kind that ends in laughter and soft kisses on the forehead

I see the way they care for each other
in playful glances and the small gestures of bringing the other a drink just cause
the pausing of a game to check in on the other
the cooking from one and the washing of the dishes from the other and I realize I want that

I want to be able to wake in the arms of another
feel supported and loved
cherished in a way I haven't been before
I desire the mundane
the splitting of chores
errands run in tandem

I crave the affection that can only come from another who loves and accepts me for me
someone who supports my dreams
and gets along with my friends and family

I want to share my space with someone who feels like they don't take up much of it
yet everywhere I look there'll be a reminder of them in my eyes
and I think of the song being alive and I think I understand

I know it looks like I'm okay
but I only advertise the parts of me to the world I want others to see
you don't see me in my desperation
in my sweat riddled bed I can barely lay on--
so much is taken up by depression my body doesn't fit
I haven't showered in two weeks
there are dishes in my bath tub soaking
they've been there for weeks
I tell myself I'm going to clean them
so I can clean myself
instead I'm in my bed riddled with crumbs and empty wine bottles
ashes have painted the pink sheets black
I'm self medicating and it isn't helping
but it's the only thing I can bring myself to do
I'm not okay
I don't know how to tell you that
or how to make you understand

Its heavy
Claustrophobic
A dry drowning
Each breath labouring and deliberate
And time moves slower
The metronome of my heartbeat just a little off
When I'm asked to explain I am choked by imaginary hands
There's a ghost over my shoulder clasping his hand over my mouth
Whispering in my ear that speaking wont help
So I keep quiet
More scared of your rejection than the possibility that I will be met with some understanding
But I'm telling you now it's heavy
And claustrophobic,
A dry drowning, each breath labouring and deliberate
And time moves slower, so much so that even the metronome of my heartbeat is just a little off.

I am crying through the dishes
and I'm struggling so hard to get through them
you do not see my war
you percieve laziness
procrastination
this---
I tell you
-----is not laziness
this-----
I tell you
-----is sitting on my bathroom floor at 3am exhausted but unable to go to sleep until I do the dishes
this is not showering for two weeks because the place I go to get clean is murky with filth I can't bring myself to touch
this is disgust at myself and my brain for letting it get this bad again
this is crying while I scrubb with a deep anxious pressure on my chest---

doing the dishes makes me feel like I'm being held at gunpoint
the anxiety so real and heavy and demanding

I put it off
and I sit
and I wait
while it grows
and practices
and sculpts
and perfects
and becomes more menacing by the minute
and I cower

this is not as simple as doing the dishes
not as simple as getting it done
not as simple as just pushing through it
this is                   wrong

doing the dishes is wrong in a way I cannot describe
and I feel nothing but absolute fear and terror and shame

and shame

I hung up my clothes today
separated them into donate and keep
folded the ones that didn't need to take up vertical space
and when I was done I spent the rest of the day on the verge of a panic attack
unable to complete the rest of my work
unable to do anything worthy of contribution at my job
I took more breaks today than I ever have
hid in the office for a few hours occupying myself with paperwork
hiding from guests
and coworkers
and responsibility
and stimuli
I sat out on the receiving dock
where others go to some cigarettes
I found myself sitting on the concrete steps still slightly damp from rain earlier that day and resisting the impulse to knock my head against the brick wall of the building.

I did a simple task and I could not function
this is what I mean when I say I need help.

agitating and pitiful
polarizing--
bittersweet
I see the people I once knew very well become strangers
enjoy each other's time with care and honesty
a transparency I never felt I could be with them
Instead, the time is tinted in soft memories with the ghost of a past self who was timid in her own clothes
I watch as you enjoy and flourish
wings spread
already airborne
while my wax has melted, dried into a too thick clump
heavy with no clear goal in sight

I'm happy that you're doing well
that you are still friends
that you are thriving in the world you have made for yourself
but I watch
and I wither
and I weep in the garden of my own creation:
hollow and musk

to you it may look like I am merely surviving
and that may be true in some way
but I've found truer friends than you ever were to me
who don't judge
and continue to choose me again every day

it still hurts my heart to see you interacting
laughing with big smiles and jokes on your tongues
remembering a time where I could have been with you through it all
that year I left and was forgotten about still burns like incense
I've never been good at being someone people want to continue to be with
I usually push others away intended or not
but I'll still like your posts on the internet
and I'll comment on the pictures of you standing there at the wedding I never even saw an invitation for
and it feels funny for me to think I thought
one day I'd be standing there beside you all

She sought refuge in the inhales of a panic attack
Rapid breaths as loud as the waves of a roaring ocean
She could hear promises in the threats they made
Loud, fierce
Rapid and strong
Reassurances that she was allowed to live

I've been letting these feelings of complacency linger for awhile now
avoiding the process of acknowledgement like it's an overused hobby in my freetime

and it's rare for me to act--
instead I diminish and allow myself to curl in on myself
rather than facing head-on the things I fear

I am weak like that--
weathered down by time like a stone in a creekbed until my sharp edges are smooth--
only good for skidding above the water and sinking down below--
my obtrusive nature nonexistent,
only useful to those searching for me

but I've been sitting here complacent--
letting the rushing of the currents wear me down,
and I find I am tired of it's constant freezing presence
sitting beneath the crystal waters--visible to those searching for my stone,
waiting for the helpful hand of someone brave enough to seek me out
waiting to fit perfectly in the palm of their hand

and maybe I'll find that I've found purpose again.

After vitals have been taken
Before I really wake up with
Cloudiness still fogging my brain, I remember
Depression brought me here; the light
Eases its way through the closed blinds
Fully sealed windows
Galvanized metal toilets
Handrails not fully formed
In case anyone gets any ideas; ideation
Jumps to action quicker than you'd believe
Knowledge of this fact binds us--
Little me would not be proud--
My mind is swimming
No one is really listening
Once I'd like someone to understand
Progress is pointless without a destination
Quiet, winding roads still call to me
Reaching scenery I've never
Seen before and may never see again
This is freedom
Under open skies
Venturing further than I thought myself able
Wading through still waters
Xylophone tones from the nature all around
Zoned out, free, finally calm and content and
     alone

I'm no longer asked what I want to be when I grow up
That question has changed into what I wanted to be as if my young 21 year old self is out of time, is out of drive, is out of dreams because I work retail
Three time college dropout doesnt show much promise for dreams
Three time college dropout can't handle the pressure of school
If you just had a degree you'd be further in life
A lie my parents pounded into my head
My neighborhood white, and judging, and privileged,
And I'm not disregarding that or am denying my privilege, but it made me feel like I was supposed to be more than what I am
Never living up to the expectations of suburbia
Parents not understanding how someone who had so many opportunities could destroy them all and work retail
I destroyed them all but not by choice
It was a decision made a gunpoint, hands leaving fingerprints slowly bruising my throat, air choked out my answer with tears in my eyes that I would fail in yours
I had asked for help
But my privilege should have been all the help I needed
The opportunities and material items subsidizing serotonin
How could anyone with all this be depressed?
A counselor once asked me where I saw my future and I told her I didnt think I'd have one.
What's the point in planning for a future where that spot on the timeline was already ripped off the page
Life ending too soon
Too abruptly to allow for any success
My success is being here today, alive, and breathing, medicated for some feeling other than emptiness and my parents come and visit my bare apartment with judging eyes
I call them more often than not to ask for some help---pay for a doctor's appointment here, cover some rent there, my car insurance is coming up and I dont even know what agent we use and can you cover it because I'm still trying to get on my feet
Recently my body started to deteriorate
My right side joints failing with some unknown illness I had to walk with braces and a cane
I couldn't go to the doctor because I dont have insurance
But I'm not sure if what I'm seeking at this point is medical or emotional


I'm scared to talk to you because I work retail

A part of me longs to be alone
A part of me fears to be sitting in my suffering
Clawing my hands through dirt
Nails ***** and filled with grime
I'm trying to reach the clay
I think if I dig far enough
Past all the heavily packed imperfections
I can break it up and move it enough to find the one thing that I can form and hold to my will
I can change myself into what I truly want to be
I'll spin the wheel and make something beautiful
When you use it please think of me

I'm sitting in a waiting room
TV on for distraction
and it still hasn't hit me fully yet that I am here
in the waiting room
my next step
the passage way to a better tomorrow
and I know it's only been a few minutes
hours have yet to pass
and although I've never been here
the waiting seems intimately familiar

---I haven't been in this room before
the waiting is the same

A part of me feels tilted on an axis
a mobius strips, no end, no beginning,
but twisted all the while
and I try to straighten it--
try to gain some semblance of normalcy
but these feelings come in waves,
abruptly crashing to shore;
always slow to pull back

there's a time and a place for changes,
but I am never prepared for mine--
routine interrupted by chemicals I try desperately to tame

abrupt changes in motion
I drag myself to skid
the ground is hard
it's unwelcoming--cold and damp,
gravel pressing into my back

Young, hunched over, under covers,
Hous after lights out--
Bedtime forgotten;
Book in hand;
Fake sleeping when parents checked;
A secret moment in the world just for me
               It's a wonder how my flashlight never ran out

I think we were always destined to be this way
a kindred spirit who haunts my dreams
I compare everyone to you

call me again when you have your life figured out
I promise I'll probably still be waiting
and I'm not sure that's healthy

but if in years down the line I am content with another, and you asked me for a chance
then I'd have to at least think about it

I think I've been too much again
too obtrusive in ways that I don't mean to be
I'm codependent and that's not healthy
but I felt that I could be with you and now I'm not so sure

but you said you needed space
and I understand needing to be alone
but I can't help this feeling that I've done something wrong to push you away

I'm a lot and I know that
it's hard to admit it to myself
you kept me steady and routine
I'm not quite sure how to deal without
right now of all times

I'm vexatious
and burdensome
difficult
and loud
annoying like a fly buzzing in your ear;
constant and disruptive

and I talk about myself way too much
and I share little things about my day
and I think they've added up to being too much

and others tell me I'm not
but it feels like they're just placating
because I'm never too much with them  and I know I am with you

this is why I don't let people in
because every time I do they eventually pull away
unable to keep up with everything I am
so I pull back instead
hesitant to jump in
the water is always a shock to my system
I started wading instead
but by the time I'm fully swimming
you've gotten out to tan

I know I am too much
colorful and loud
unapologetic until I am crying again alone
I care about you in a way I know you don't care the same

so instead I'll be quiet
accommodating and considerate
your own feelings placed above my own
I'll get out of the water
drops evaporating from my skin
until there is nothing left but air and a stranger
where there once was a friend

It's a prison-- but it isn't
--although I imagine the toilets are the same and probably shares many features
here I use paper spoons
here I use pens that are just an ink reservoir here I'm supposed to get better

I'm here to get better
my concept of the term loose and evolving "better" is never achievable
only not as bad
I am trying to be honest
this is my best

I gasped my way through the drought
Course, dusty particles abusing my lungs
Gulping down whatever little water was given--no matter how stale.

I was digging my hands through the cracked ground for so long---
Searching for a well, a spring, even clay I could use to build shelter from the scorching heat--
Head down;
I didnt notice the storm clouds brewing overhead
I mistook their darkness for the routine calm of night

The flood is here now and I thought I would have been more ready
Instead I had been ****** dry for so long that I had forgotten how to swim

There are 3 cigatette butts on my patio
Relics of talking and tears and hard decisions I wish we didnt have to make
I said --and I meant it, still do-- that I would support you as a friend
I want there to be more
You say you need to do this alone so that we can be more
I know realistically holding out for hope that you will come back to me is probably foolish
Taking a break is never just taking a break
And it hurts because I love you and I know you love me too
We talked last night about marriage and our future together
Of the life we would and wanted to build
In your exhales of nicotine we agreed
But when you left leaving only your butts on my porch as a reminder you were there
You and I disagreed on what to do

---I can't bring myself to throw them away because it's like an admission of throwing us away too.

I feel heavy in my chest--
an anxious weight of the knowledge that it's about to be bad again;
I can feel it getting bad again

and the trigger might have been you or it could have been this impending sense of  doom I cannot seem to shake--
but it's going to be bad again

I can almost grab it--
fingers desperately trying to pull a dumbell off my lungs
my arms are too weak
and the bell is too slick
and I can't seem to grasp it quite yet but it's there;
sitting,
heavy,
holding me down while the sword of damocles is hanging above my throat--
I can see it's getting bad again

but I cannot move,
and the sun is setting quick--
the darkness almost comforting as a distraction from the cool steel of the blade taunting me--
I cannot seem to watch as the sword begins to drop

it's getting bad again,
I can feel it--
see it in the ways the world's colors tinge a subtle sepia,
hear it in the ways my favorite songs don't sound as they should,
taste it in how foods are turning repulsive to my mouth--nauseous and burning,
smell it in the smoke I use to drown out the constant ringing of alarm bells,

trust me when I say:
I'm not prepared for the worst--and well,
it's getting bad again

It was fine at first--
unnoticeable, or rather better hidden
but it became something deliberate and somewhat cold
a curling ball of something akin to shame tucked beneath my rib cage
I find I do not pity you

as days turned to weeks turned to months of petty not-words
passive aggressive shoulder keeping me at a distance
friendship unneeded and clearly not wanted

I owe to you the tenseness of my shoulders
the quieting of my voice,
the diminishment of my presence

and I thought; or more so rather hoped, that my talking to you would have changed things for the better
instead, I find us back where we started--strangers with no intent of being more than

I work with you when scheduled,
but your name brings a foul taste to my mouth--
it hurts to know I am the odd one out
square one
like a child alone again on the playground

I will sit on the swings
awaiting the push

I'm guarded,
but these walls are glass:
thick like the acrylic in aquariums.
I can see through,
bang on the walls until my hands are red,
shout, but no sound ever leaves this fortress

instead I watch
as the people stare in at me;
hundreds of eyes watching me
causing my skin to crawl like insects are living beneath it

they precieve me but do not know me---
gawk and laugh and smudge the glass;
my vision to the outside becomes jaded--
blurry audience to my sideshow act---
there's something to be said about just exsisiting

I'm there with pretty patterns,
colors that scream dangerous to the natural world;
there is total lack of monochrome
bar the numerous stickers on my torso and limbs

and they stare at me appalled
while their children giggle and  point with wonder in their eyes
demanding to know what is that creature?
why it's so funny,
why it's so loud and bright and struggling to hide
when it's obviously something a wonder to be seen

they shush their children then--
saying don't look and not to point
while they raise their eyebrows in judgement and gossip to their friends later about what they saw that day
I have become a spectacle and in a way I did it to myself
trapped in the necessity of uniformity so long I started to ooze out of my clothes like sludge

it dripped into new shoes and formed someone new
I'm still learning to accept her vision in the glass when I look in the mirror
trying to find the awe of a child's eyes through the ones of an adult

I think it says a lot that I was relieved we weren't allowed visitors
I struggle with the idea of you caring when in the past you've done little to understand
I'm here for me
I know somehow you'll make it about you
I can make it about you all the same

How you'll never be satisfied with me
much less proud
this time spent will be marked in your memory in embarrassment or anger
you never like to show me off anyways
why else would your favorite picture of me be in black and grey?

We can watch the stars play off the water
Until we're certain enough to know that we can't tell the difference between the surface and the night sky
A nostalgia tangled grip of your hand in mine
The only truth I can hold on to
I still have trouble telling apart my left and my right,
But I can always find my way back to you


--You smiled and I felt it in the beat of your heart

I know there is a piece of my soul left somewhere in the discarded text messages on your phone
I know there is a trashed email from me in your inbox from years ago
and it's weird to think that the last time we spoke I was grieving something fierce
it's years later and I still grieve you

I still think about you often
worry over the ache you have instilled into me
catch myself going to say your name and letting the sounds of it get stuck in the back of my throat

I swallow

you were the person I thought I'd spend my life with
grow into the little old ladies who rock in their chairs on the porch
now I think back on those assumptions with a bitter taste in my mouth

I hear your name and panic
and I don't think it should be that way
I shouldn't fear every time something reminds me of you
but I think about the time we spent together with fondness and immense pain
you have given me nothing more than sour memories and trauma that walks beside me day after day

I hope you are doing well
I hope you are a better person than you were to me
I hope you never hurt someone as deeply as you hurt my heart
and I hope to never hear from you again

I don't think I could take it.

Ink to paper:
a simple thing to most,
but I struggle with more than that most days
I sit in a constant battle of wills
both of which are my own
conflicting and demanding my attention
I do not feed it
still I watch it grow--
ever encompassing, abundant
I try to move, but I still sit
stuck to the fabric of my bed sheets
my flesh becoming one with the fibers until I am truly trapped
in this battle of wills,
I do my best not to become complacent as complacency always leads to depression
and while we have been much more than strong acquaintances,
neither friend nor enemy quite seem to fit

It's difficult to describe the emotions tandem with its presence--
upsetting to say the least--
but anger and fear come close

Still, I try to leave the tangle of my bed sheets,
fibers pulling at my skin,
ink willing my hand to write, my mind to steady, and my feet to move.

Not so much rare as spontaneous
a tightness of the chest
a heating of the face
a trickle from my eye
      I have never done well with criticism

but it demands my attention,
however ignored it may be
cold shoulders throw a lot of heat when aimed correctly

listening to silence can be disturbingly loud
you may call me a sensitive soul,
but it's been a while since I've felt so outcasted
    I retreat into myself

inside, I can scream and I can cry
throw a tantrum like the child you make me out to be
sometimes,
I can feel it leak

there's a dam that's been carefully crafted
years of maintenance tirelessly scheduled
--day in--day out--
but recently it's been cracking;
maintenance lacking with the feeling of safety

I think I need to patch it
because of you