Sara

15 days.

I am about to leave everything I know

In 15 days.

I am drowning in panic

And racing in fear.

And I cannot wait

To meet myself

It was the last day of school My last day of school ever. And they piled in my car So we could make it.

I took the pictures One at a time All eight of us So we could print them out And put them in the toolbox I bought

We wrote our favorite things And notes to our future selves And zipped them in plastic

And we took one more picture Of all of us together And we buried it.

"We'll meet in five years, And dig it up. Even if we all hate each other," She said.

I laughed. "That's morbid."

This place is a beast

And it’s eating me.

The drum of the machines

The roar of the fans

The never ending cycle of my screaming body struggling to move

As every day tears it apart.

I miss my words

The connections they brought

The strangers who told me to write

The chain of syllables linking me to the world

Why did I stop?

I don’t know.

Maybe I forgot

But they don’t say how much they tend to leave.

My found family is falling apart

And the members are exposing themselves as worse than I had expected.

https://gofund.me/7a794018

I dreamed about you the other night and texted to ask if you were doing okay. You said you were fine.

You drove past me on the street and I waved after I waited a little too long to see if you were going to.

I miss you, but I won’t try to chase you again. By the time I had finally healed enough to try and repair our fragile good terms, the gap had widened just a little too much.

When you wanted to cauterize the would you tore in my chest I wasn’t ready. And when I was, you didn’t want to try anymore.

It’s so blue it’s almost black.

Square shoulders.

Silver snaps down the sleeves and front.

Hanging passively on the rack as I stare,

Surrounded by the hurricane of what to keep and what to donate.

Two of the snaps don’t close,

There’s a pair of tiny burn holes in one arm,

It doesn’t fit anymore,

And here I am, clinging to it anyway.

It was my favorite in eighth grade.

I would stim by clicking the snaps open and closed over and over,

I’d hide a body I was rapidly becoming insecure about under its soft cover,

And soothe my anxiety by stroking its suede surface.

Thank you for reaching out! Gaza needs our attention and support.

It was a hell of a mistake.

But

I still take midnight drives

I still read to my sister and teach my nephew to hug trees

I still buy my sibling their birthday present four months early so I can see their smile

I still try to slowly reassemble the shattered pieces of my lover’s trust.

I still feel the crack in my heart from what I did.

But I am a good person.

(Heavily Suicidal and Depressive Themes!)

You don’t get to kill yourself.

Every single iota of pain you’re going through, you deserve.

Death is a privilege of relief you don’t get to have.

You want to fix the pain? Then fucking stick it out.

You hurt the singular person you love most in the world and now you have to deal with the consequences.

You’re so fucking pathetic.

You’re not even the one hurting.

You’re so fucking selfish you make me sick.

You can’t cut yourself. You promised. So take up the emotional knife and slice the neurons of your brain into a million slivers of quivering aloneness.

Hell, I wonder why God even wastes the oxygen to let you continue breathing.

Dear twenty one pilots,

Thank you.

You gave a voice to the cuts in my brain when I didn’t know what they were trying to say.

I was less alone when I had Migraine and Kitchen Sink to hold my depression.

I owe you my life, for leaching the loneliness from mental illness and teaching me not to let my demons win.

From,

This is my golden summer.

Every second will be squeezed like a peach, their sappy sweetness dripping down my arms.

I lie on my side in my car, staring at Venus through the window.

I can feel every breath slithering across my hands as they press the letters on the screen, uncertain why I’m even typing.

My heart feels like it’s in a wine press. I don’t know why, nor do I want to. I’m a melancholy and dramatic girl who ties far more weight to her emotions than they actually warrant.

I will be fine.