From Thoughts To Word.

Between the Sand and Stardust

[perfeqt]

“Sometimes, all you can do is lie in bed, and hope to fall asleep before you fall apart.”

— William C. Hannan

[celestialprint]

My world is falling apart and I can't do anything to stop it.

[celestialprint]

“And there it was again, The feeling of my heart shattering.”

—

[celestialprint]

I listened to you talk about the things you loved more than me and never complained.

[celestialprint]

[celestialprint]

We are all just trying to pick up our broken pieces. But they have sharp edges, and it hurts to touch them. It opens up old wounds, and makes us bleed again. But I’ll help you, I’ll bandage the cuts on your hands and I’ll be there when the brokenness is too heavy. We will be okay eventually, but until then I’m with you. I’m on your side.

[celestialprint]

There's a sound inside you, of something broken, every time you move.

You thought it could be your broken heart, or one shattered hope, or trust, or the rich faith that you used to put in vain folks.

It could also be the words that were too easy for people but a too little hard on you, that you swallowed in silence; it could've been the pieces of the your confidence that took way many hits, you thought, it might finally blown to bits.

Whatever it is, you're hoping it stays concealed, nobody should know about it, nobody should know you're un-healed.

[celestialprint]

Fragile.

[celestialprint]

I hope you're happy.

[celestialprint]

“Maybe it’s just one of those days where it feels as if you’re tearing apart at the seams and nothing’s truly wrong but at the same time, nothing feels right, and it’s so painful – I’m sad for all the wrong reasons, and I want to stop feeling, I want to stop thinking, just for a moment, just for a minute, I want to stop thinking of everything. For a minute, I just want everything to stop.”

— Excerpt from a book I’ll never write // 23.01.2019 (via celestialprint)

[celestialprint]

Promises are the sweetest lies.

[celestialprint]

“You and I are broken dreamers. We stumbled and we fell and we shattered. Then, we stood up, nonetheless, and kept going. We see the world through stained glass windows we ourselves have created– using pieces of our crystal souls and painting them with the crimson from our scars. At one point, you gave me a piece of your heart and I gave you one of mine, and we found that we fit better with each other’s puzzle pieces than with our own. Now I cannot remember which ones were mine and which were yours. Our world is broken and fragile and sharp. But it’s also beautiful, like a mosaic built on secret wishes and silent daydreams only you and I know of. And most importantly, it’s ours. It’s ours.”

— Excerpt from a book about us I’ll never write // 18.01.2019

[celestialprint]

1. Inside my head it is messy, I imagine if the inside of my brain could be described it would be like a painters drop cloth - a mess, with explosions of colors, drops of paint that were intended to create something beautiful, but instead they made a mess. 2. My hands begin to shake. they shake viciously. My pen cannot write in straight lines, the words I’m sorry I exist are no longer readable: they come out crooked like my thoughts. 3. My mouth is dry, my voice is cracked. Something is off about it. I don’t recognize the words I say, they don’t sound like me. 4. I think there must be thick smoke around my lungs; they feel tight. They aren’t doing their job, I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe. 5. My heart is begging me to stop. It isn't just beating against my rib cage anymore, it is pounding at my skin. My heart is trying to leave. It doesn’t want to be apart of this. 6. No matter how tight I shut my eyes, they end up opening. I’m looking at the devastation around me, I think I’ve been seeing black spots again so my eyes don’t have to see the whole picture. I don’t know if they could take seeing me like this again. 7. I owe so many apologies to my stomach. It is knots again, it is yelling at me in frustration, in desperation. I know I should be good to it. 8. My nervous system is working over time lately, trying to keep me alive. When all I want to do is die.

The Anatomy of My Relapse  (via celestialprint)

[celestialprint]

25 and psychotic. My story will go down in history.

I'm just not sure if it'll be for my ending or success.

[celestialprint]

And there it was again, The feeling of my heart shattering.

[celestialprint]

I wanted to catch every tear that night, every ache, every hurt, every memory. I wanted to gather them all up and put them in a bottle. To put them away where I would never feel them again. They’d just sit in a closet collecting dust and I could breathe and smile once more. I wish I could do that, you know? Take it all away and give myself back innocence of a world too cruel to care about hearts like mine. I wish. I wish. But instead I’ll just sit and listen and let my heart break.

[celestialprint]

“I hit rock bottom and encountered a sign that reads: keep going. It only gets worse from here. I scratch and claw my way down, because up is no longer an option. It feels like an exaggeration, going to hell and back, but you don’t realize you’re there until it’s too late. It starts the morning you wake up and decide you don’t want to get out of bed. The afternoon you don’t log onto zoom, the night you skip brushing your teeth because you’re too tired, too burnt-out to pick up the toothbrush. The morning you wake up with heavy limbs that don’t move, the morning you type out an email to your boss — I can’t do this anymore, it reads. you delete it and go to work instead. You stop responding to the one friend you had before the pandemic spun your life out of control. Every notification you get is just another rock on the mountain of burdens you carry. When is the last time you brushed your teeth? the toothbrush sits on the bathroom sink, untouchable and out of reach. The skin care routine lined up next to it? all but a distant memory. The winter days grow longer and longer, never-ending. The clouds start matching your moods and you stay in bed longer and longer, using the cold weather as an excuse. Your toothbrush gathers dust. You start running out of clean pajamas. The desk in the corner of your room is stacked with chapters you never started. Half-empty water bottles litter the floors. And the next thing you know, you wake up at the bottom of the barrel. it’s bleak and scary. You can’t crawl your way out of something that is smooth all around. You can’t crawl your way out of depression. The metaphorical barrel you have to crawl out of doesn’t exist but I have the torn fingernails that suggest otherwise. You’ll pick up the pieces eventually. This pandemic has been tough, am I right? The red bubble notifications on the messages app will disappear, along with the half-empty water bottles. Maybe you turn in that paper, brush the knots out of your hair or just chop it all off. Take a shower that makes you feel like your skin is melting off. Put on clean pajamas. Open a window or two to let the fresh air inside. You claw your way back up one way or another. You lock the door; throw the key with the half-empty water bottles. Hammer the metaphorical barrel closed. Find the sign to hell and take it down. Maybe one day you’ll return, but you don’t need directions anymore.”

— To hell & back // 17.04.2021