Puffin Muffins

It's sleeping on top of the covers in yesterday’s clothes, scrolling until your eyes burn, chasing noise to drown out the ache. It's deleting messages before they’re sent, staying small in conversations, hiding your laughter like it’s something dangerous.

It's saying no to things you love before anyone else gets the chance to. Turning away from kindness because you don't know how to hold it. It's setting your dreams on fire before they have a chance to breathe - not because you don’t care, but because you’ve been taught that joy is something earned through suffering. And so you become your own gatekeeper, punishing yourself in invisible ways. But wounds don’t always bleed. Sometimes, they look like a life unlived, a light dimmed on purpose, a heart whispering, “I don’t deserve this” to every good thing it meets.

Self-harm can be the quiet art of self-erasure. It's ignoring your reflection because you can’t bear the sight of yourself, or drowning in oversized clothes to avoid being perceived. It's canceling plans that made your heart flutter just yesterday, because somewhere between then and now, you decided you weren’t lovable enough to show up. It’s walking into a room and shrinking, speaking in softened tones so you don’t take up space, apologizing for existing in places where you’re allowed to be. It’s procrastinating dreams until they rot, because the thought of succeeding feels more unbearable than failing.

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