Do you ever just realize how not okay you are? Like you’re fine for a little and then it just hits you and you’re overwhelmed with sadness and you’re just sitting there like “oh… ok”
there’s this big project coming up with really, really important people depending on me, my ideas, input, and work and I’m completely anxious. I’ve been in this field for so long and yet I’m still as nervous as ever. I’m always afraid. for fucks sake.
prettynessisthekeytohappiness:
his coffee is hazelnut. it smells like honey and it never rots and i feel like i’m decaying inside.
“big nineteenth, eh? you haven’t mentioned anything about your plans.”
new years is the worst, but my birthday is a very close second.
everyone expects something human out of me.
i’d just rather stay in bed and hide and sleep through it like i do with everything else.
i thought about useless things today. and tea cups that shatter before they hit the ground. and how water feels like concrete if you’re dropped from high enough.
“i don’t know what i want to do yet.” i answer simply.
my birthday’s tomorrow.
but this is a bad day. and it’s a bad week leading up to that terrible, awful clock striking 12:22am. last year i sat on the kitchen counter at midnight and blew a candle out on a chocolate chip muffin.
i was alone. some things never change.
i told her i don’t feel right today. but i don’t feel right most days. i told her i can’t move because i’m so sad. the muffin wasn’t celebratory it was sad too. it’s still under my skin and i know it’s there i just can’t find it. i can’t dig it out of me.
my bed is a sanctuary.
when i was thirteen i’d lay on my back with my arms crossed over my chest just to feel what it would be like in a coffin. curiosity in what i couldn’t explain. that’s all.
even back then i was broken.
i think about what i write sometimes as too rotten to put to life. too sick to show. but i need it heard because ears and fingertips and lips ache to be understood. i hope you feel understood in all your darkest places.
i found streetlights with eyes. i slid across the hardwood in my socks and tried to find the way i used to smile at it. i cried instead.
i’m doing it wrong. i’m doing recovery all wrong. i keep saying the same things over and over. i like drowning too much. she told me the motivation doesn’t come first, but i feel hollowed out.
i’m the useless i’ve always been.
i hate my birthday, and now i hate the number nineteen, too.
- (@prettynessisthekeytohappiness) // a.d.
I don’t remember the last time I legitimately felt like a good friend
I do not have the ability to keep plants alive, I either water them too much or not enough. I think I’m doing fine, but they end up withering away. Perhaps this is why I have the inability to successfully maintain relationships.
Rip hyacinths
Sometimes I talk to normal people and realize just how much of my sanity I’ve lost. They don’t think about death all the time. They don’t feel numb inside. Their joy lasts for more than a few minutes and is not followed by anxiety. They don’t always feel worthless. I’m usually not the jealous type but I’d kill to live this kind of life.
I used to hate sleep, I think I still do. But I find myself drifting in and out of consciousness way too often. Hoping to shut my eyes and escape a reality where I’m self destructing by the minute, doing the things I swore I’d never do. Trying to run from everything, especially you.-H
“The hours between 12am and 6am have a funny habit of making you feel like you’re either on top of the world, or under it.”— Beau Taplin, “The Hours Between”
(via wordsnquotes)
they may love you, and i bet they do. but maybe not enough. not enough to keep you. not enough to chose you. not enough to stay.
4am