We accept the love we think we deserve, so I guess this is what the parts of my mind that are out of my control believe is the love that I deserve. But it's not love, it's pain, and hate, and self loathing, blood, and tears, and the inescapable loneliness from which I will never leave as I sink deeper into unconsciousness.
You know when it's cold and you can see your warm breath in the air? When I was little I would always try to breathe with my mouth open so I could see the puff of steam every time I exhaled. But now there is no breath to be seen in the air and only a lump in my throat, tears in my eyes, shriveling unused lungs and the unoxidized blood running through my veins. And there is the sight of a little girl in my shattered eyes. A little girl in a puffy winter coat with pink cheeks and chapped lips trying to catch the steamy air that dissolves in her small hands . That girl is me but I am not her. I stand in the same spot as her just years later and my grown up self, the one exposed to the hardships of life and the heartbreaking pain and sadness of love looks down on the familiar, young, innocent body of the little girl wishing I was in her body, wishing I could still see through her eyes, see the sparkly breath in the air before it dissolves in the air. Before my innocence turns invisible and floats away forever. Lost, just like the little girl will be. Lost sooner than she thinks.
YOU ARE READING
The Untitled Story of an Anxiety Disorder
RandomI'm the girl who is always there for people when they need a friend but I am also the girl who faces many issues alone, but would still do anything to see someone else smile. This is the diary of someone living with anxiety. Some people might think...
