i moved to college twenty-five days ago.
i cried the first night, and not a single time since.

the urge to hurt myself on purpose is getting to be overwhelming, but my support system is back home. do i have a support system? i don't want to put this weight on any individual person, god knows it's too much for me.

i need to shake off all my responsibilities, go to a party alone where i don't need to take care of anyone. i need to drink until i can't function, can't think.

half of my soul wants to drop out and move further away. no expectations, no art critiques, no essays. i don't want to have to live up to what i've supposedly chosen to do for the rest of my life.

i need to be drunk.

when the numb feeling settles in and
i don't wake up to any of my alarms anymore
when dinner is after ten pm or not at all
i find myself wondering if i'll ever actually succeed at anything.
am i the fool for letting myself trip face-first into this
downward spiral?
i walk around with a blank expression
but i'll still smile when i catch your eye,
because if you worry i feel guiltier than normal.
what if i die and nobody remembers my name, my story?
what if i make nothing of myself, finish nothing?
what if my life ends up meaningless, and this suffering
wasn't worth it?

gardening has taught me a gentleness that no parent ever could.
the way my hands work roots apart to make space for new dirt
shows me that i have the capacity to be soft, even when
the world has given me an exoskeleton of impenetrable emotion.

i have days where i can’t imagine doing anything except laying in the dark, but my plants need the sun just as much as i do.

there’s this appreciation of small things that comes with gardening, this ability to notice even the tiniest changes.
cheering on the little new leaf of a plant that hadn’t grown anything in months. flowers blooming to prove you’ve done a good job.

the world is dissolving but they just keep on growing.

there are snapdragons outside my window and though the cold weather killed the rest of my garden, they are thriving. pushing out the brightest colors i’ve seen all season.
nothing will work for every plant, the care i provide is vastly different even among two that sit next to each other on the shelf.
nothing will work for every person.

the gentleness i’ve learned keeps my hands soft towards others, like when i put bandaids over scratches or zip up dresses or intertwine our fingers.

we could all stand to learn something from nature. how forgiving it can be, how gracious, how bright. flowers are what we wish on, representations of the best and worst moments of our lives. our successes, our losses.

nothing is forever, but god does nature sure last a while.

you look so much like your mother! oh, you look just like your mom when she was your age! you have your momma’s eyes, her nose, her lips! you and your mom are just like twins, aren’t you!

i look like my mom. my mom doesn’t like the way she looks.

she’s too heavy, the diets don’t work, she can’t lose weight, she doesn’t want to be in pictures, she is uncomfortable in her own skin.

if i look like her, what does that say about me? will i end up in the same boat as her, unhappy and projecting my insecurities?

i look like my mom. my mom doesn’t like the way she looks.

moonlight pours through the window into my open arms.

“i missed you more than usual today,” she says, her body pressed against mine.

she rests a hand on curve of my jaw and leans in, my light refracting off all the walls in our room.

when her lips touch mine, i feel the glow with my eyes closed. she whispers to me and shivers run down my spine.

fate brought us together but it’s not what keeps her coming back. we are a perfect balance of light and dark; the sun and the moon.

though, this won’t last forever. when she leaves again i am alone on the floor, clinging to anything i find that reminds me of what we could be. i never know whether she’ll return until she’s here, back in my arms, holding on tight.

i don’t think i want to die.

but i want to escape and i want to be different and i want to feel something and i want to do better and i want to breathe in and out, stretching my lungs.

there’s this numb feeling in my bones and it’s starting to make my emotions seem artificial, staged, timed. smile on in three, you’re supposed to be enjoying the conversation! i don’t know how to fix it. i don’t know how to feel anymore.

a lot of my life has been spent doing things for other people even when it wasn’t good for me. i’m a people pleaser to my core. my heart aches for who i could’ve been, for who my parents could have been if they didn’t have me.

being the oldest means a childhood that none of your siblings will live exactly the same, responsibility they will never have, expectations that are never going to be set on their shoulders. you’re the experiment, the one who made your parents who they are. everything they do wrong with you is fixed and improved for the next child.

i don’t even think i can blame them, it’s their first time living too.

the sun is setting and i just want to do better but i don’t know how. i’m surrounded by people who love me and i don’t know how to see them. life is passing me by and all i have to do is pull the cord to stop the train i’m on, but i can’t reach.

i was so excited to grow up but it’s nothing i ever imagined. i remember it all; every age and every wish and every idea and every tear and every scrape. nothing feels the same as it did when i was six, or nine, or fourteen.

it’s my first time living and i don’t know what to do anymore.