goddamn hypocrite

don't you dare tell me to love myself
when you can’t even love me yourself.

everything feels right again

because i’m self-destructing.

and if this is what feels most right, then it must be what i’m supposed to do.


Watching it all slip through my fingers

and helping the process along. 

Because it feels right.

It really does. 


“We keep coming back to this meaning that I lack.”

My body is shaking and my heart is going so fast that it feels like one continuous, violent beat.

If I could just turn down the volume, slow my thoughts, I wouldn’t be half as anxious as I feel right now.

But the what-if’s have made their way into the dimensions of my mind and they bounce from wall to wall in an attempt to find their way back out.

Bounce… Echo,
Bounce… Echo –
they don’t want to be there any more than I want them there. I can hear it in their scream.

And with each breath I breed another parasitic thought, living off whatever little self-esteem I’ve left.

It’s impossible to believe in yourself when you don’t believe in yourself. I see no in-between.

Surely I am, or I’m not.
And I’m not.
And I’m not.
And I’m not.

And it’s black or it’s white, or it’s black or it’s white, and that’s all that it can be.


i died. no, i was born.

things have changed and i can’t be who i was.

i am not her,
she is gone,
and i am as ‘fine’ as every person that walks by.

i push it all down and
i deny,
i deny,
i deny.
i sweep it, right back under,
never to ever exist again.

everything in life never happened before now;

i am born,
i am new,
she has died.


“Because you finally understand the movement of a hand waving you goodbye.”

I’m so terrified of being alone when I’m alone
And then I’m so terrified of being loved when I’m loved.
I’m always needing exactly what isn’t,
Scared of what I do have and scared of what I don’t have precisely the same amount.

Sometimes I panic that I’m never going to find the connections that I feel I need to have with people in my life. And I’m human so I do need them. It’s not that no one is around because they are. It’s not that there isn’t opportunity to connect with them because there is.

It’s that I don’t.

And that’s not because I don’t want to because I do. It’s because I’m scared; scared of the connection within the connecting.

So, people do
but I don’t,
and so the process is like watching sand slip through my fingertips over and over again.

I have it…
I had it…
It’s gone.

Then scared of the loneliness within the aloneness, it repeats like a song stuck on replay.


My swiss cheese trust

“No, it’s not unusual that there are so many gaps. But usually, with time, these gaps become filled. What is unusual is that as time continues to pass, your incapability to fill in those gaps is revealed. What do you make of that?”

I think it’s hard for me fill in the gaps. It’s hard for me to fill them in for me, but especially for you. I think I’ve spent my entire life barricading the perimeters of these gaps just so they can never be filled. Not to be filled by me, and especially not by you. I think it keeps me apart from myself and from others – far, far apart – and I think that suits me well because I don’t know trust.