I hate being alone
But when love equals suffocating obsession and fear of what will inevitably be lost again, where does that that leave me?
I hate existing in a body that doesn't allow me to do the things that make me feel alive, the very few things that temporary plug the bottomless pit in my chest
I hate that I'm still convinced there's not enough of me left
Not enough of the things required to be worthy of connection, of staying interesting
I hate that I could get anyone I want but only physically, fuckable but never lovable
That my body is all that I'm worth and I use it to my advantage because it's all I have
I hate that I need drugs, sex and validation from strangers to survive the heaviness eating me alive every second, minute, hour of the day
I hate that my existence seems to be on pause again, survival mode I'm waiting to get out of before all that's festering inside will crush me again
I hate that after all these years I'm still fighting to be taken seriously, worthy of help
That I'm not profitable enough to try fixing so they'll put it in the files, that I'm doing just fine
I'm sentenced to an endless cycle of push and pull, fixate, worry then isolate
Being on my own and telling myself it's alright because it's all I've ever known
Try not te get hung up on the past but with every conversation I have, the memories come flowing back













