It's been seven days since the imprint stuck to my skin- the scars still hold true to the nature of which they were born. They were strategically placed upon spots I chose their insides ran from my fingertips like they were proud of it. But I was not proud of it.
It's been roughly 91 days since the pills lined my throat- broke through the shell I hid the dependency inside decided to try and make myself better. It was roughly 40 days in I took regret to my skin these pills reminded me what blurry feels like these pills made me forget what I actually feel like but I'm scared of what my body will do without them. Ten days after that the cycle continued- Day 50. I was back on the same track I was on six years, 2190 days ago. The small shell of who I once was cradled in the corner turned to stone and built a monument of my dysthymia the mirror didn't recognize me, I could not see myself. I watch myself in the reflection and try to remember who I am the swollen eyes do not feel like the home I've built for myself and it's been 2190 days since I've felt this exact way the thought of nostalgia suddenly makes me sick. I am wishing for the days to blend together again for them not to be counted on more hands than I have time left this isn't is an introduction or a preamble to my story this isn't even an epilogue anymore- I wouldn't really call it a eulogy either.
It's been seven days since I took to my skin the same way I did when I was just a kid overcome with the idea of dying inside of my mind and watching someone else die in front of my eyes. So what is my excuse now? Just raw emotion cutting into me like it's a slice of birthday cake but this is no cause for celebration- blow out the candles. Break me down and hollow me out disinfect these wounds so they will heal quicker. The mania and the downward spiral are no longer holding hands- they are jumping ship. Dive in.