I wanted to hurt myself yesterday.
I did not.
I like to think that is progress.
I can see the dark. And part of me does not want to stand anymore. I want it to envelope me so that I can't see, hear, feel anything.
If I have a soul, at least part of it is dying. Dissolving into particles that twist and scurry in the winds of panicked breath, a heartbeat tripping on its own feet, dizzy. My throat hurts. My head hurts. My chest hurts. My arms hurt. My legs. All of me.
This is too much to bear. I want to love and be loved. I want to be alive. I want contentedness to be punctuated by happiness and joy. Sunlight. Music. Laughter.
I want to lay in the grass staring up into a canopy of trees rustling in the breeze. One hand on my heart, one hand in theirs. Quiet. Smiling. ALIVE.
I am so far from this dream there is physical pain.
Orchestra of pain.
I did not.
I like to think that is progress.
I can see the dark. And part of me does not want to stand anymore. I want it to envelope me so that I can't see, hear, feel anything.
If I have a soul, at least part of it is dying. Dissolving into particles that twist and scurry in the winds of panicked breath, a heartbeat tripping on its own feet, dizzy. My throat hurts. My head hurts. My chest hurts. My arms hurt. My legs. All of me.
This is too much to bear. I want to love and be loved. I want to be alive. I want contentedness to be punctuated by happiness and joy. Sunlight. Music. Laughter.
I want to lay in the grass staring up into a canopy of trees rustling in the breeze. One hand on my heart, one hand in theirs. Quiet. Smiling. ALIVE.
I am so far from this dream there is physical pain.
Orchestra of pain.
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