My green eyes stare into the crowd of my memories, pinpointing all the moments in which I realized I wasn't good enough. I look at others' pasts and want their, want their histories to be my own, so the pain can be expelled from my memories and only happiness remain, but I am not bandit of time, I cannot take what isn't mine. I can only accept what is left behind.

Her red hair, my red heart, the red wrath I feel in my soul at the clarity I feel knowing that all these moments, these flaring flames in my life-fire, have led me to believe the one thing no young woman should never believe; I will never be good enough.

Broken glass in a broken pane, I lay shattered by each fist pounded into my face. I spent years reflecting others, putting their image before mine, only to get smashed and bashed and banished to the planes of Asphodel, left to die in my own misery. Left to my own devices and own lax, to give up and to give out never to receive again, and let myself fall into the darkness.

Yet I fought, in the worst way I could. Smiles lie and words hide, as the demon below lay his puppet hands on my heart, and even when my soul screamed for freedom with tears most needed, I let my pride champion over my sanity. Bottle up the pirate ship, Grace, it'll look so pretty on your shelf, and look out of place in your heart. Remember, you're no thief.

I hoarded the good times and the love in my heart like Smaug, the great and terrible, solidifying my body as a Lonely Mountain with a maddening crystal at its core. Maybe its only fitting I am short in stature, for I have dragon madness upon my heart, set like a promise to myself that the bottle on the shelf? it will never open, and I will never let the stone walls of my smile fall. This mountain was my domain, and no one was going to destroy it.

Until they did. I was a glutton and I ate and ate the hearts of others until it came back upon me, like a righteous knight set on showing me the error of my monstrous ways. They cut me down, and broke through my glass and forced open that bottle until I could hide no more. The dragon with the stoic walls and pretty smile was revealed, and it drove people away.

Desperate for love, affection was sought in the worst way possible. Body sold for attention and affection, the defeated dragon, the broken glass, the faulted whatever I was was left open and unable to find solace. The window into the mountain was burst open and there was no going back. Fear, pity, worry emanated from those left in my life. But I was reckless, and I no longer cared for this vessel that held m demon soul. I simply wanted the pain to go away.

Then someone dared enter my keep, and hear my whispers, the weak ones, the only ones my heart dare still speak, and they whispered back, "You are always good enough'.

And that was when everything changed.

Its happening, all over again.

Nothing is wrong, nothing has happened, there just feels like there is a gaping hole in my heart and nothing can repair it, like there is a part of me missing and I have no clue what it is and where to go searching.

I used to think the missing part was friends, or family, or anything I loved. But as time goes on, it seems to hit me that the exact problem is not that its anything I am able to find; no. There is simply just a part of me missing and there is nothing I can do about it.

It breaks my heart. I sit here at my desk crying, uncertain what to do, because it appears there is nothing i can do. Its just a section of my heart is missing, always will be, and nothing can ever fix that.

The words do not come, I have not much to say, except my heart is missing and I know it won't come back today. Or any day for that matter.

I don't want to.

I look in your eyes and I smile and I know for a certain fact I don't want to.

Every time I have I have lost it, I have ruined it. I have never once not ruined something.

And I know with all my heart I do not want to ruin you.

I've been a heartbreaker all my life, no clue how, no clue why, because I'm not that funny, I'm not that pretty, I'm not that anything, I'm just kind. I'm kind and I **** people in until I then destroy all their hopes with my moods and my temperaments and my ever-changing mind.

I don't want my mind to change about you.

One night, I felt it. I felt my ever scornful heart turning from you and it broke me. I cried and cried fearful that I would lose you over one little shift, one little imperfection. I don't want it. I don't want any of it.

I just want you.

I want to change for you, to stop shifting, to stop turning, to stop it all. I want to stick with this until my heart breaks for once, because we both deserve that.

I don't want to already be starting to turn away.

I don't want to go despite everything you say.

I want to be by your side for as long as I can manage it, because you are worth it. Because you fight for me, even when I see in your eyes it kills you. Because you hold me and smile at me and talk with me and care about me, even if its in your own quirky way.

I want to do this, for you, for the one I never expected.

I will break my own heart for you.

Mood stabilizers, they call them, but in some ways, they're more like painkillers for your heart. They numb the feelings so that you don't have the extreme moods you are accustomed to.

When you have a mood disorder, everything you feel is so much more intense, and so much more certainly snowballs out of control. That's most of the problem; the complete lack of control you have over your chaotic emotions.

But then you go to a doctor, and they give you happy little pills called stabilizers to do just as they're told to. Stabilize you. Normalize you.

Funny thing is, even with the little heart painkillers, you'll never be normal. Even if you keep up a fantastically ordinary facade, you will never be ordinary. You will always have those little pills in your pocket telling you that you are not good enough the way you are, that you must change.

Its a double-edged sword, these pills. Because some days you wonder why you can't just be you, why do you need these drugs in your veins, but then you remember the cuts on your arms and the painful nights where you drowned in your own tears and you remember why even you don't think the person you are is acceptable. Get better, Grace, be better, Grace. The words pound in your ears until you forget who you used to be and you are always striving to be something more, something better. You strive until it kills you.

You are stronger, you can beat it, they say.

What if I don't want to beat it, though, just want to have control of it? I never want to feel less than everything, I never want to feel so dull and numb that it kills me more than the pain ever did, I never want to beat myself, I simply want to be me but controllable.

Because right now I'm uncontrollable and that's terrifying.

Painkillers for your heart, numbing you until you can't feel anymore. But sometimes I wonder if I really want to feel numb.

Do I want to be me, or who everyone wants me to be?

One is safer than the other, but which one is really living?

Because all I want is to feel alive, but I don't know whether surviving will entail that.

Painkillers or killer pain.

That is my decision, one I'm not ready to make. Maybe tomorrow, when mania is not so close to my throat.

Maybe tomorrow, because I am far too afraid of today.

My kryptonite?

That's a good question. I'm no superhero, no, my limbs too fragile for any crime fighting, any dark lighting of the night, I can't be a Batgirl.

But everyone still has a kryptonite.

I jokingly tell people ice cream, or inappropriate musicals, or turtles, or writing. Writing is a good one. I will do a lot for the sake of the written word.

But that's not what truly gets to me, what breaks me down every time.

Change and love.

Changing love.

It begins as perfection, as bliss on a stick, like a Firecracker Popsicle, delicious until you get to the part you don't like, or, when you get to the end. All you have left is this disgusting flavor in your mouth or the taste of bark, and neither is pleasant.

Everything ends.

That's what kills me. That is my kryptonite. Endings.

In so many facets, this thing kills me. They are my favorite part of every story, but my least favorite part of my life. They are what I spend the most time constructing in a paper, but they are the thing I avoid the most in reality.

I have been taught, in my life, that everyone will leave. There's abandonment sewn into my heart that I'm not sure can ever be erased because, unfortunately for me, its always been true. Almost everyone has left me, and I can't help but assume the rest will leave too, until I am alone.

That's what I love about writing. When you write, there's characters, a new world, a new life. You're never alone, and you're never yourself. When you despise who you are so much, its a dream to try on a different coat and live another life, even if its for only a few minutes.

Another flaw of mine; getting off track. We began on kryptonite, and then I turned it into a tale about the wonders of writing. Typical Grace, distracted about words. Words, words, words, but are they real?

They're real to me, so I guess that's all that matters.

I guess it all circles back to my original kryptonite. Love.

I love too much and get hurt too easily. Its the struggle of my disorder and the folly of my far too large heart, far too large for my little body. Sometimes I wonder if my entire body is one larger, misshapen heart *****. I fully realize the heart is not where emotion comes from, but I'm certainly not all brain. Heart is the only ***** that makes sense.  so strong, so vital, but so breakable.

Maybe that's why they call it falling in love, because even Superman can't fly away from it.

Its kryptonite.

For you, the one who I never expected.

For you, the one who holds me and makes me laugh and is so very close to my own heart sometimes I think they share beats.

For you, the one who believes in me more than I believe in myself, telling me I'm something even on my darkest days. That I'm special, that I'm worth it, even when I want to believe that I am everything but.

For you, the one who I am so afraid of hurting, but could not stand at this point to abandon out of fear. I find myself standing by your side and wanting to stay there and make you as happy as I can manage, because you deserve it.

For you, the one I fell asleep in front of, a feat not many can claim, for sleep has always terrified me more than it should and the fact I trusted you with unconscious me means the world, when I barely trust myself during slumber.

For you, the one who watched Lilo and Stitch the first night we spent together, and we kissed and laughed and simply were just us and I couldn't ask for anything more wonderful, even though at the time I hardly appreciated it.

For you, the one who was there for me when I thought no one wanted me, and promised you would be there for me even when I couldn't be there for myself.

For you, the one with almost tears in his eyes when you realized the gravity of my pain, of my problems, of my fears. The almost tears that I will never forget, and will make me want to fight for a better me every day.

For you, the one who I never expected, but now would not change for the world.

For you.

Don't.

Don't see her and think its me.

She is the heart of darkness, the shadow of fear and doubt taking residence in my body. I hate her. I hate everything about her, yet she is apart of me, a part I cannot seem to shake, like a fever that's a tad too strong or a burr that's a tad too stuck.

Don't look at me and feel fear, look at me and see me, however clouded that vision may be at this point. The monster who wants to destroy itself and those I love is not who I am.

I will not be defined by my depression.

Don't forget my smiles and my tears and my history and our story if I ever lose. If I cannot control the atrocity within, the  vortex of despair, don't forget who I want to be.

Don't remember me for the pain, for the ticks and the tocks as I wear down the clock, drawing tragedy closer to me. Don't see me as anyone but Grace, the girl who loved too much and self-preserved too little. I never was quite good at it, anyway, I was always much better at caring until it hurt.

Don't juxtapose my illness with me, it is one facet of my heart, not all of me, and even if I break your heart, know I never wanted to. I never want anything that hurt those I care for, but sometimes I simply cannot stop myself.

Don't think of me as the monster I think I am, believe in me more than I believe in myself and maybe, just maybe, one day I can believe in me too.