a poet once said
“recovery isn’t all yoga mats and tea and avocados
and she was right
recovery is eating lunch even though i’m not hungry, because i spent too long skipping meals and i know my body needs nourishment more than i need to not eat
my body — the only body i have — needs me to keep it alive and recovery is learning not to burn down the only home you’ve ever known; it is knowing that there’s never a good reason to tarnish the temple that is you
recovery is forgiving myself when i’m reset back to zero, when i only have one day of being clean under my belt, each and every time it happens
recovery is chaotic and can be inconsistent; recovery is complicated and intimidating
recovery is a choice
it is a choice on the days where it’s yoga mats and tea, and it is a choice on the days where it’s reminding myself it’s okay to try again tomorrow
I don’t feel the love for myself and maybe that’s what it takes or maybe I’m just so tired of a home that only consists of me…
My life is complicated but that does not diminish my worth.
“how much fear can fit into my stomach?”
Nothing makes me more uncomfortable than when men are super friendly/pay attention to me/try to flirt with me
I don’t want to have to turn you down, I’m already uncomfortable speaking to you and when I feel that your motive is to ask me out, it makes me want to crawl out of my skin
I’m alone now.
I spent so long with them that I’ve forgotten how to be me.
But it’s okay.
Because at least now I am free.
“Do Not Stand at My Grave and Weep”
—Poem by Mary Elizabeth Frye
sometimes I feel like I’m faking myself
because I have ships of girls and guys and all in between, but I feel guilty to read about girls and their girlfriends.
I know I find girls pretty, I know I like a girl from school, and I know that I feel like a horrible person every time I imagine dating her.
I feel guilty looking at my pride flag and I feel guilty if I think about it too much, but now it’s in my room so it’s hard not to.
I feel like I’m faking it and tricking everyone, and I heard imposter syndrome usually effects people who care too much, who care more than others do, so maybe that’s in my favor
but what if I am tricking everyone? what if I just want to feel special subconsciously?
I’m scared to accept this and it not be truly me, but I don’t want to deny it.
i skip over most girl in red songs half the time on my playlists because they make me feel shameful, guilty.
my mom said she thinks I like everyone, that may be pink and yellow and blue are my colors, not pink and blue and purple.
I disagree, I do like everyone, but I like boys more sometimes, and think I like girls more other times.
I’ll read of guys dating guys, but when girls date girls, it’s not the main part. it’s a side ship.
they won’t persuade me to read something without my other ships in it. they won’t persuade me not to read something if they aren’t in it.
i feel gross thinking to much about the girl I like who might like me. I want to hold her hand, but don’t want to feel like Im lying to her.
how could i ever love you when i know not what love tastes like? i have hidden myself away under layers of pretense that i think it impossible to strip them away.
they’re glued to my chest, my skin melts into itself and i can’t breathe can’t breathe can’t-
are you still there?
will you teach me how to see again? will you paint flowers on my skin until i will be able to wipe the webs away from eyelids?
my love, can you hear the ocean?
ah, the beach…i haven’t felt the sand in so long.
the sun feels foreign on my skin- i think…i think it does not belong there.
please, can you take my eyes away? my ribs? my tongue, my ears, my legs? leave me only my hands, so that i can still create.
she’s funny like that. she’s gentle at a time then harsh the next.
i think that’s why i love her.
ah, but death..!
my sweet, lost lover! have you come to visit me again?
ah, yes, i do know. i promised we would not keep meeting like this.
i’m sorry. you’re right, i should stay with her a little longer.
will you come again?
hey! have you seen the seagulls? they’re quite wonderful, aren’t they?
yes…it will be a while before they bloom. dandelions are quite lovely, aren’t they?
ah…haha…yes. indeed. it’s not quite what we expected, is it? but we’re here now. it would be a pity not to enjoy it, hm?
ah, life, hello.
quite a while since your last visit, hm?
what brings you here again, my sweet?
ah. that. you do know them and i cannot stay apart for too long.
it…is hard to explain. i am still alive. i never left. i cannot explain for there is nothing to explain. i do love you. you know that. but you know i can’t be bound.
we meet yet again, huh? it’s been so long…
yes, i’ve been well. there’s nothing here i don’t love. but…
it’s silly, isn’t it? even now, there’s still a part of me that can’t let go.
it grips me tight, pulls me under, suffocates me-
you know what that feels like, don’t you?
ah…yes. i suppose you wouldn’t.
you’ve never been here, after all…
should we go? it’s getting late again.
but a goodbye would be hurtful, wouldn’t it? that’s why we often can’t say it. sometimes, it’s true, we’re not given the chance and i know some say they wish they could, but, truly, i believe what they wish for is not an ending phrase, but time.
so, no, my darling. let us go.
it is, after all, time.
there’s yellow scattered along the green grass, a little garden in a corner and no-one quite knows how it got there, but they all stop to stare.
it would be a while before the garden becomes white again.
start from what you know
it’s easier to start form the things you
know you don’t like
and piece them together
until you have an idea of who
keep doing this
until you are left with
what you might be, and over time
that will become
what you unquestionably
Let’s be clear, I’m not leaving you empty handed. I’m leaving you cause I’m empty, and you can’t fill me. I was full when i met you, but you’ve somehow taken everything out of me. I must leave to be filled again, so that maybe if we ever meet again, i can fill you up just like before.
- in order to be filled again, i must let go of you
Me: short fic. Okay. I’m going to write a short fic
Also me: already 3K words and I’m in the middle
I mean I guess 3K words aren’t that much but tell that to my other 5 fics I have started
“I want to be tortured by pleasure and to be blessed with pain.”
i took your hands in mine
(they’re so cold, my love, why are they so cold?)
“your soul is truly wonderful” you whispered
and who was i not to believe you?
“you’re like starlight, did you know that?”
you’re so gentle…you carve me open, yet it never hurts and i find myself falling into your arms and it feels like coming home.
you’ll always feel like home
I come from a womb that showed me passive love,
That carried me with grace,
Its walls barely touching my form as if
To not hurt me.
I come from a womb who wanted to be the one
To carry this tornado of a human
A womb so brave, so fearless,
I wish to call it “mother”,
To call it enemy, friend and lover,
To call it ever-too-far while being
A bit too close
To my fears and faults,
To the loose ends it designed itself
During nine months of episodes
Of “The Young and The Restless”
Watched in an unmade bed.
I come from a womb that
Laughed and cried while it held me within,
A womb so human I forget it was all made of skin,
So sometimes I curl myself in my worn out blanket
And I call it “mother”.