"this body is not mine."
that's the thought that passes through my head.
i scream at my limbs to move.
"fucking snap out of it already!"
over and over and over and over and over and
but they won't.
"THIS BODY IS NOT MINE!"
pain isn't real. love isn't real. nothing is real.
what you call my flesh is merely a vessel.
so naturally, i leave it.
...floating.
it's nice at first.
being my true self. exploring things in a world i never thought was possible.
but when i tried to go back, the door was locked.
bolted.
shut air-tight.
"LET ME IN!," i pleaded. "I CAN'T BREATHE!," which was a lie. breathing isn't real.
i can't write like this. i can't sing like this. i can't love like this.
because when i'm like this, everything is fake.
maybe if i get a good night's sleep, i'll feel better.
maybe if i keep taking my medicine.
maybe if i can touch my feet to the ground, it will remind me that the grass is alive.
one can only hope.
i need someone to hold me,
to let me bury my face in their chest and cry.
i need someone to rock me back and forth
trace soothing circles on my back
while whispering to me that everything will be okay.
and i lied again.
i don't need someone.
i want someone.
i feel so guilty for having this urge.
i feel undeserving,
and ungrateful for everything i already have.
why why WHY can't i take care of myself emotionally?
nothing good comes from being so codependent.
i'm scared when it's like this.
i'm scared that i'll never be able to get back into my own brain.
i'm scared of the awful things i'll find out here.
third time's the charm.
i'm not scared.
i'm terrified.
i have to wait for the screaming voice of my mind to turn back into a whisper.
i have to wait until they give up.
...
it seems colder today than it did yesterday.
which i know isn't true because it's the middle of the fucking summer.
but still, i woke up with a chill.
it started with goosebumps and it traveled through my muscles. through my bones. through my whole body.
that chill reached my soul.
and,
i'm having a hard time trying to warm myself back up.
metaphors can only say so much.
