sat by the ocean

courage

I am rebooting
I can't access the painful emotions from behind the glass
I can access a happy mindset, and a negative mindset, and that is about it
I want to write from my inspiration,
but it is short lived and quickly dropped because I feel like I'll be writing the same stories over and over again
I have been given a taste of the real world,
and I want in.

it tastes of food and of company
that does not make me want to bang my head
I am hungry, oh, I am starving
in so many more ways than one

feed me a lemon or feed me a feast
I'll take it up in my mouth and let it poison me

I don't know what to do, but I want to,
and I want to do it—
is this a new period for me?
a new era?

sometimes, I want to live life as a man—
but is that just me downloading data from a character into myself?
sometimes I feel very masculine,
but the pronouns never seem to want to match
but maybe that's because I'm afraid
I'll have to look into it

guidance, guidance, everywhere
but nobody wants to see it
I can see it, yes,
but I can't interpret it
and that scares me deeply
because what have I not caught onto?
what if I'm not updating my system,
not restarting my system,
what if I'm moving on into a new era of depression?

would all my work be for nothing,
or would it have been for this?

I don't want to be sad anymore
I don't want to be in pain anymore
give me my continued good ending
because I don't want to see where old roads would lead me
I want this one, this absolutely lovely and hand-drawn framed picture of what I want for myself

I'm sick of falling apart,
sick of failing like that song said

I've been fine and then I've fallen
I always question myself
and sometimes it is aimed like a knife at my throat
am I faking this?
how rotten am I to have done that?
but I am still learning not to fake
after fifteen years of living in my own lies
after fifteen years of living a lie

I downplay my experiences
because that's what my mother does to them
but in reality,
I'm not just some scared teenager
I'm a fucking person, too

"I want a new brain,
I want a new heart,
I'm sick of feeling, failing, and falling apart"
those who fight dragons sing
and I sing along with them
though they are not my words,
they comfort me

I have tasted on my tongue a tang of realness
and I want the full experience
is that what I'm downloading right now?
the plans to run?
the blueprint of growth?
is this when that happens?
is that when this happens?

there's no longer some distant future to think of,
because in two years my life will rest comfortably in my own two upturned palms,
and then I'll know who truly is to blame for this oppressive nature of mine.
is it myself,
for having a desire to fit in with the cool hip new depression everyone was having,
or is it those who befoul me?

I wanna be able to make dark jokes
without that depressed sense of guilt and fear
guilt because I know I'm hurting myself still
I know I feel like I haven't changed
(despite the face in the mirror)

my face is small in my own hands
but it feels so infinitely big when I display emotion

my body's responses—
they act like it's a bad thing.
I act like it's a bad thing.

all my support is either internal or it's online
because nobody in my real world wanted me.
and I don't want them to want me now,
not if they'll just reject me a moment later like they always have.
not if they've treated me this way despite our familial relations.

maybe if I had physical friends I'd be better off,
I think to myself,
but then I remember that real people aren't like book characters, in my experience.
they're not like me.

there is one person in this world who is anything close to being like me,
and even they can't fix me,
so what am I to do?

wait it out?

wait until everything sorts itself out?

continue being passively alive,
continue existing in passing
while everyone else dirties their hands?

I want to feel real and physical and here
but I've spent fifteen years forcing myself into the opposite.
into borderline disassociation.
I've been perfecting my flaws because I don't want them to be pretty if they aren't
I have to have intenseness because it's the realest thing I can cling to
and maybe that's why I'm so afraid of astral projection—
because I don't want to leave my body.

it's the only thing that can keep me connected to my real life.

I can't buy new clothes because I'm not my parents' priority anymore
I can't ask for too much new food because I'm not worth the cost to them
I can't ask for them to be quieter or gentler with me when I need it because that's forcing them to walk on eggshells just to co-exist with me and that's abusive, isn't it?
I can't ask for help.
they already think of me as too little.
this is one of the only times I'll care about pride.

it hurts so fucking bad that they don't love me—
not really.
you can love your kids and brothers and sister and siblings and family
without loving them as people.
without even liking them at all.

that's how they are with me.

I am like nothing to them
but it is worse
because I catch a little glimpse of something every now and then
and it's enough to keep me tied here where I don't even want to belong.

I have lost all hope of ever having anyone physical to stop me when I'm being stupid with myself
because real people aren't perceptive at all
and if they are
then everyone's just been ignoring me my whole life.

I know it's unhealthy
I know it's textbook brooding-traumatized character
I know it's not what I should be.

but it's what I fucking am.

leave me if you want to,
you know I'll give a damn.
I'm like a character out of a book,
except my problems are real
and there's no supporting characters—
it's just me and my tears.

aren't you afraid?