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Feb 17
i type distantly
like the hands
that hold my phone
are alien appendages
attached to a body
from a different space
and a different time

but it is 1:13am now
and i am rooted here
in the physical world
my atoms buzzing and humming
dancing through the atmosphere
confined to this vessel
of meat and bones
that i have no choice
but to animate

i am here
condemning this physical form
to the four corners of my room
i switch between
writing to an operator
for a crisis text line
and spilling my insides
onto the lines i write here

this is how i spend my nights

it is 1:39am now
i canceled the text service
because i am tired
and i don’t find solace
in condescending
impersonal advice

believe it or not
i am a self-aware human being
and after six years
of making myself bleed
it actually has occurred to me
that i could find a hobby
or snap a rubber band
on my shaking wrists
and i have tried whatever unfulfilling
underwhelming trick
you have to offer

your intentions are always good
dear operators
but *******
your ignorance
is astoundingly
counterproductive

it is 1:56am
and i feel just as alone as before
but just a little more frustrated
and closer to sleep
than when I started
I found this while looking through my notes. It was written in May.
Lost
Written by
Lost  18/Cisgender Female/NH
(18/Cisgender Female/NH)   
56
   M-E and SMS
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