I never stopped writing. I haven’t liked anything I’ve written in the past year, but I kept trying. I have thousands of stray thoughts scattered throughout my harddrive, scribbled onto the blank spaces between the ink of old accounting files that somehow missed their trip to the shredder. I kept trying, and I keep on … Continue reading “I’m a notorious procrastinator, but even if it takes me till the end on my days, I swear I’ll find a reason to love myself.”
Another rainy day, another chance to wash away the filth sticking to my skin from weeks without caring about who I am becoming. It’s a fall in slow motion, a subtle slip that turns into a never ending slideshow of evenings spent worshipping the bottom of a bottle, any bottle I can find. But it’s … Continue reading “I only have a clear mind at 3AM, when the worlds asleep, and as I’m waiting on those pills to take me away, the last rational thoughts in my brain just leave me wondering what I’m still doing here.”
I’m tired, but that means something different to me now. Before I just felt tired because I was working myself to death, skipping sleep to put in 100 hour work weeks. I didn’t work for the money, I just needed something to keep my mind preoccupied so it wouldn’t wander onto another train of thought … Continue reading I’m willing to admit I don’t want to die, but the thought of starting over ties my stomach up in knots.
I think my subconscious is trying to force my throat shut so I can’t keep downing these pills like fucking skittles. Haha, jokes on me, I’ve spent my entire life forcing bullshit out of my mouth, so forcing some more shit back down? It’s easy as 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, … Continue reading It’s never as bad as I think it is, until I realize every bottle in my cabinet is empty, and all I can do is wait and see if I’m going to wake up and find tomorrow, or never wake up again.
You took your hand, and you held my face, and you didn’t tremble, you didn’t shake. Your hand felt cool against my cheek... I think I was warmer than usual, because you were sitting so close, in more than just a physical sense. You touched my face, and it made me wonder, has anybody ever … Continue reading I was afraid of you, because of the way you touched me.
Depression sinks into your very soul, and you stop knowing how to love yourself; the thought just isn’t fucking there, and to even hear it, write it, be surrounded by the constant reminders of "Love yourself" does nothing when you feel as if you need that self love to EARN the love of others. People … Continue reading World Mental Health Awareness Day: What Depression feels like (for me).
I caught up to you, on the last train of the night. For me, it’s the last train home. But where is this train taking you? I can tell it’s not taking you home, but it’s still the last train, so where is it you want this train to take you? ~Beyond the tracks, past … Continue reading “I’ve never known where I was going, I just knew I had to keep moving. But even without a destination in mind, I think I always sort of knew this is where I’d end up. In the end, we all reach the end we were destined for.”
Another day, another bottle’s contents swirling in my stomach, melting away the anxiety and replacing it with a physical sensation akin to choking. Or perhaps my throat is actually swollen shut? My lungs might be filling up with cheap liquor and cigarette smoke, leaving no room for something as silly as a chemical reaction turning … Continue reading And I know I’d waste my last words on something stupid, like “I’m sorry,” or “I never stopped loving you.”
There is no happiness in the world, just a series of paths that grow progressively darker as more time passes. In the end, it culminates into something so black, you can’t see anything moving forward, and you can’t see anything when you look back, so your left choking on empty memories, and in that dark … Continue reading “My chemical makeup makes it impossible to forget you, but I’m hoping that with time I’ll remember the me that existed without you..”
I can’t resist the urge to break. It’s almost like a need, a physical itch that demands I scratch it with a freshly sharpened pocket knife. I hate this feeling. I am filled up with things and stuff instead of love and warmth, and it hurts. I want to cry. Every day I want to … Continue reading “I’m failing. Everything that I am; body, mind, spirit, and all the other shit in between, I am a failure.”