Mind-full

Choking on my selfishness and sadness is comforting in its familiarity, yet I can’t help but feel hollow. So full of emotions but never the ones I want. Unconsciously my feelings turn off, I don’t need them anyways. Numbness is always better than anger and sadness. Breathing gets easier for a bit- but it never lasts. I know I’ll push too much for too long and break. 

that I am strong and independent

but I need you

Mom I need you

“You should come by, we’ll hang out soon.” But I don’t rise to promises anymore. Plans dissolve, forgotten, like chalk in the rain

I am so far behind, the weight of unfinished things pressing against my chest. I am tired— so tired— that even breathing feels borrowed

Sadness suffocates, thick as smoke in a locked room

Once, I slipped my breath through wood and silver, and the world answered back. Notes wrapped my bones in warmth, grounding me, lifting me

Now, my hands move through the motions, but the sound drifts past me, untouched. No longer music, only echo. No longer me, only hollow air

It’s getting cold again. The trees are changing, slowly losing their leaves. The air is crisp in the morning and apple cider is in season. Autumn is here, winter will be sneaking up soon. 

It’s bittersweet the comfort Autumn brings. Pumpkins will be carved, hot cocoa sipped on. Bonfires invited to but never attended, pies to bake and burn. Halloween to be excited for, but never allowed to celebrate. Oversized sweaters to wear, and new pashminas to buy. It is my favorite season; always has and forever will be.

Yet I dread the change to come. Sometimes I pick up on it before it happens or when it does. When it starts getting colder and my fingers get numb, when I stop having the ability to cry when I need to; when I get numb. 

Seasonal depression during my favorite season must be a cosmic joke God thought to be funny. 

I want to cry and scream. I want to be angry and yell at someone. I want to have the fierceness sixteen-year-old me had when confronted. I want to feel it again. I want to feel. I want to feel better again.

A simple four-four rhythm plays at the back of my skull 

I’m dizzy and cold

my mind fills with memories

the smell of my grandpa's cooking I’ll never taste again 

finger tapping and sweaty palms before public speaking events

a blue towel covered in red

My breath is choppy, and my hands are shaking 

no matter how much I clean myself

I still feel their touch on me

I’m still a child sitting in a police interview room, learning that I was watched when in the shower

I still wake up in hot flashes and crying 

I still feel everyone's hands on my body

some days, I feel more victim than survivor 

Adding more scars to my skin feels counterproductive 

though old habits are oh so tempting

I have not gathered the courage to throw out my old blades 

they sit in a box under my bed 

my kit is gone

the gauze and tape, and ointment are gone

I know I won’t need them

I don’t need my blades

My pain has taught me more than I can vocalize

It has made me into the woman I am

It does not control me, even if it does define me

I am a victim and survivor

I am scarred and scared

I am blunt and off-putting

But I am kind

I care and will forever see good in everyone

I overthink and overanalyze

I am the edibles shared and the drinks spared

I am my smudged eyeliner

and the ripped sleeves of my fleece

I am cold coffee, forgotten about

I am the media I consume

I am the snap of a belt before it touches your skin

I am independent and proud in it

I am learning, forever and always

learning how to love you properly

and how to make you feel needed and wanted

I am learning your tiggers and quirks

I hide my softness behind sarcasm and witty jokes

I’ve felt too much and yet too little, for too long.

I’m terrified. I’m terrified of scaring you with the truth of my sadness.

But I know she will never truly leave me

I am always one foot in the doorway of sadness and the other in happiness

Learning my triggers with another is still new to me. I don’t always know what will set me off, or when, or why

I hate that I can’t tell you; I wish I could warn you

You will always see part of me in sunlight

laughing the loudest in the room

but the grief still stings

pulls me back

I exist simultaneously 

content and yet depressed 

one will pull the other

balancing the weight